Of Journals & Journeys
by RoswellianMisha
Summary: AU M/L. Life is predictable and completely risk free for one Liz Parker, head of the biology molecular department in a small lab in Washington State. It's such a pity that trouble has found her in the form of Max Evans. Life is full of invisible chains, a prison without walls for Max. He wants out, if only he can find the way to neutralize the drug that keeps him in check.
1. Friend or Foe

**Disclaimer:** Gees, would I love to own them?! But nope, you all know who the owners are, and certainly that doesn't include me. I'm just writing for fun But to make it official: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.  
**Category:** AU - Max&amp;Liz  
**Rating:** T, for very occasional language and violence.

**Summary:** What if no shifters had survived the crash?

Life is predictable, comfortable and completely risk free for one Liz Parker, head of the biology molecular department in a small lab in Washington State. As far from Roswell and little green men as one could get. It's such a pity that trouble has found her in the form of Max Evans.

Life is full of invisible chains, a prison without walls for Max. He wants out, if only he can find the way to neutralize the drug that keeps him in check. Can he trust this doctor? Can he live with yet another person in his life looking at him as a thing and not a person?

**AN:** This story explores the idea of what could have happened if no shifters had survived the crash, meaning no pod chamber, no message from home, no Roswell as we know it. Yet a certain couple seems to be destined to find each other. Be aware that this is strictly a Max &amp; Liz story, with no side couples. Sure, other characters from the show have important roles, but that's about it.

Many thanks to my betas,** Michelle in LA** and** xilaj**, who actually thought this was a good idea :)

* * *

**.**

**Of Journals &amp; Journeys**

**.**

_Journal entry 1, January 4th, 2011_

Funny how I haven't had a Journal since my high school years, back when I was a small girl from a small town, right in the middle of nowhere. When life was predictable. When your dreams could come true with just enough hard work and the future was waiting to happen.

When life used to be so easy.

I didn't know that then. The plan I set for myself worked perfectly well, one which was colored with the reds and browns of falls in Boston, and the smiles and hugs of my parents and friends when I graduated from Harvard. I wasn't a small town girl anymore, and it didn't matter that I came from a small town, either. I had the world at my feet, even if it was only the world of molecular biology. My dream became true.

The thing nobody bothers to tell you about dreams, though, is that you have to be flexible about them.

I'd dreamed of being head of the molecular biology department, until I realized what _exactly_ a head of a department does. And how long it takes to be one, especially at Harvard. When a small, yet promising research lab had an opening for me at the other side of the country, I took it without a second thought. I was going to be the head of a department, one way or another, no matter where or what size.

So here I am, a name plate on my door proudly displaying Elizabeth Parker, M.D., three technicians under my wing, and a boss-slash-owner I hardly see. Dream job any way you look at it, if you ask me.

Until just about an hour ago, things had been pleasant enough. Predictable enough. Organized in the way I like things, where problems get resolved no matter how big they are. Science has a way of reducing everything to the smallest pieces, allowing you to find answers. Sure, it takes time and leads to many disappointments, but the beauty of it is that, sooner or later, you'll get results. You'll get answers.

I guess that's why _he_ chose me. It makes sense, really. I have the skills and the equipment and the privacy. And _he_ has… I don't even have a name for what he has. While I look at what is under the microscope, all I know is that life is never going to be the same.

That suddenly, life is not going to be easy any more.

* * *

**Chapter One  
Friend or Foe**

* * *

She was working late, as usual, but she didn't mind. Lab work was a solitary job most of the time and she found that soothing. Her mind could work in peace, her thoughts rarely straying from what she had in front of her.

Everything in this little corner of her world was white, silver, or black, the expensive equipment on the other three lab stations neatly cleaned out for the day. White light reflected from the chrome instruments and the white tiles on her own station, making everything look sharper, clinical, leaving everything outside her personal space in black shadows. Rows and rows of test tubes waited to be used, while brown colored bottles on the shelves were perfectly aligned in alphabetical order. She never noticed how quiet things got when she was alone, never had a second thought about the things that lurked in those shadows.

Never heard him coming, either.

"Good evening, Dr. Parker."

Liz turned her head so fast she almost fell from her stool. It wasn't the fact that it was a man's voice, or even a stranger's voice that made her react so violently. It was rather the subtle danger that was in the barely whispered four words, something beyond rational that triggered some ancient instinct to skip fight and go directly to flight.

Ten feet away in the doorframe, a man looked at her intently, barely moving a muscle, certainly not concerned about how badly he had startled her. Certainly knowing he had her cornered.

"I—I— Who are you?"

Her heart rammed in her chest, the adrenaline surge far from over. If his voice had not warned her, his honey-colored eyes certainly dared her to run and never look back. Under the harsh white light, those eyes looked older. Way older. She didn't notice the black leather jacket, or the dark jeans. She didn't notice he wore no tags which would have granted him access to the lab where she was. All she did notice were those eyes. Hard, angry at their depths.

And scared.

He didn't want to be here.

She didn't want him to be here, either.

Breaking the spell, he walked in, furtively looking around the empty lab. She was the only one here, probably the only one on the entire floor, a fact that came rushing to the forefront of her mind as he came closer.

"I'm Max."

She swallowed hard, but she didn't take her eyes off him. She didn't like feeling trapped, but as long as she could read those hazel eyes, she felt like she knew what was coming. That she was still in control.

"I need your help." Those eyes didn't get softer, but Liz knew asking this was not only a big deal, it was also a carefully planned line.

"Help you… how?"

Three feet from her, he stopped. His eyes focused on the microscope she'd been using. She was not the only one tense in this room, she could tell that much.

"I need you to research… something for me."

_Drugs._ It was her first thought. He looked like someone who kept secrets. Someone involved in illegal stuff. What would it be? A meth lab? Something that would need a chemist? She didn't move. She never took her eyes off his.

"There's… _something_… running in my veins," he almost whispered, his eyes glued to the microscope as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"I—I'm not the right type of doctor for…"

His eyes returned to hers, and her heart sunk. "No, you are the _perfect_ doctor. For this."

She barely shook her head, swallowing once again. Fear was replaced with purpose in the depths of those eyes. "Graduated first in your class. You love science. You love quiet."

Her mouth became desert dry. He looked back at the microscope. She didn't dare to breathe.

"So you'll do it for the science, for I have the perfect _project_ for you."

Project_ is not his favorite word, _ Liz fleetingly thought, noticing how his eyes had narrowed at that. She couldn't swallow anymore, but her mind had no problem guessing was being unsaid: _or you'll do it to stay alive. _

She shook her head again, more at her own thoughts than at his last words. She did not need this trouble. He took a step back, and she was thankful for that.

"I don't even know what you want me to find?" _I don't even have a reason to find it! _

His confidence sagged a little at that, and his eyes turned to the floor. Was it doubt that crossed his eyes?

"As I said… there's something in my veins."

"Drugs," she stated.

"_A_ drug," he corrected. "Something you won't find on the streets," he tried to joke, but it came stressed. "It's… highly addictive. I want you to find what it is, and how to get me off of it. Or if… I… can't live without it, I need you to produce it for me, until I can find the right supplier," he whispered now, more than doubt in those words making his eyes look vulnerable. Something like desperation.

"Who's your supplier now?" she whispered back.

It took him a second, but he got his confidence back, and with it, his eyes closed off to her. "The US government. Make no mistake, Dr. Parker. If they find out I was here, they'll kill you. If you contact anyone, they'll know. It'll mean a lot of trouble for me, but it'll mean far worse to you."

She shook her head yet again. "I don't want— I don't want any trouble."

He looked at her, really looked at her, and she wondered if those haunted eyes were going to be the last thing she saw before he killed her. A tense, silent minute went by. Then he nodded to himself, and walked past her, to the lab station further into the room.

She could run. She _had_ to run out of there, but her body didn't move. Her eyes remained on his back as he opened a couple of drawers, looking for God knew what. Her curiosity won over her self-preservation instincts, but her breath caught in her throat when he finally found what he wanted from the third drawer: a syringe.

_Now_ she stood up, her back to the door, her feet managing two steps back before he turned around, taking his jacket off. He wore a black t-shirt that let the world know he worked out. A lot. But all Liz saw was the syringe in his right hand, going to his left arm.

"I'm going to contact you in two days," the syringe went in. He didn't even flinch, "and if what you see in this sample does not pique your interest, I'll never contact you again." Blood quickly filled the plastic tube. Dread quickly filled her body.

He took the needle out, and one drop swelled in his arm before he wiped it out with his hand. He handed her the sample before she could even blink. "If you show it to anyone, _anyone_ Dr. Parker, it won't be pretty. If you don't want to work with me, I'll understand. If you do, we'll arrange later meetings."

Painfully aware of how scare she was –and how pale she must look—she received the sample with shaking hands. She wanted to trash it right in front of him, so he would know she was_ not _interested in this kind of trouble. But she didn't. She wouldn't risk her life for that. Once he walked out of the door, though…

The syringe felt heavy. Lead heavy. He could have placed a feather on her hands and the result would have been the same. He looked at her for a moment longer, maybe having second thoughts. Maybe wanting to make sure she had understood how serious this was. Under the unwanted weight of his stare, she looked down at the syringe, his dark red blood looking like any other sample she'd ever seen. She closed her hand around it, and looked up to ask a few hundred questions of her own.

Shadows were all her answer. She never heard him going, either.


	2. Bad Blood

_Journal entry 2, January 6__th__, 2011. _

Forty-eight hours don't seem like much, but for me, they were eternity.

I should have followed my first instinct and destroyed the sample. I should have packed my things and left the city that night. I should have done a million, sensible, _logical_ things once Max walked out of that door. But once my hands stopped shaking, once my mouth started swallowing again, I took that vial of blood and looked at it under the microscope.

Like Pandora before me, I shouldn't have opened that box.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
Bad Blood**

* * *

The lab was empty again. With half the lab technicians still on vacation for the year-end holidays, Liz had had the lab to herself for the last two days.

She shouldn't have looked, yes, but once she did… She had slept all of five hours since, and when she had, she had dreamed of those intense eyes, of the syringe filling with blood, of what she'd seen under the microscope.

_What you see cannot be unseen._

Not enough blood was in that sample to run half the tests she'd wanted to, but the other half had come back with bizarre, intriguing results. Max was right: she would do it for the science. Not that she wasn't interested in the staying alive part, too, but this—this knowledge she now possessed? This was priceless. And dangerous. And barely the tip of the iceberg.

He stood in the doorway just like two days before, but this time, for the briefest of moments, Liz read wariness in his eyes. Then it was gone. He walked in, and stood right in the middle between her and the door, maybe unsure if he wanted to be there or not._He's afraid,_ she thought, still sitting on her stool, watching him with renewed interest.

A silent, heavy moment settled between them where both acknowledged that she now knew the truth about him.

"You're not— you're not human," she finally stated, the three words she'd been wanting to scream since the moment she'd seen his blood cells under her microscope.

"Not entirely. I've been told the right definition is a hybrid." His voice was quiet, but his body tensed. The bad kind of tensing, too.

_Who told you? And a human-what hybrid?_

"I— I tried to look for the drugs—"

"_The_ drug," he corrected her, from plural to single.

She nodded nervously. "But… there's so much— so much to go through. A baseline to draw, for starters, and—" she kept looking at him, _staring_ at him, trying to find something, _anything_ that would give him away. He looked human, very much so, even if his blood betrayed him. Had she not seen him taking the sample from his own arm, she wouldn't have believed him. "—and other tests to be done. Are there any others like you? Someone who is not drugged?"

It was as if the light in the room had gone dimmer, everything about Max becoming darker, colder. "There are no others like me." There were daggers in those words. It even looked painful to say them. "I take it you want the job."

It wasn't a question, yet she didn't know what to answer. _Yes, I want to know so much more about this, about you._ And _No, you mean more problems than I can handle. I'm just a small town girl, how can I get tangled up with something as dangerous as you?_

What came out of her mouth instead was the question that had been running through her sleep-deprived mind for two days: "Why are they drugging you?"

"So I won't run," came his honest answer. "If you are going to do this, Dr. Parker, if you are going to take more of my blood and look for what I asked of you, you'll get to know things—things that if anyone finds out you know about them, it will mean you'll be dead before a day goes by. The research you'll do, you won't be able to use it for anything else, other than to help me. Whatever I say to you will go to the grave with you. If that grave comes sooner rather than later because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, it will be up to you."

He was giving her one last chance to back out. To tell him to go out of the door and out of her life. She knew he had researched _her._ She also knew he had picked _her._ He saw something in her that was trustworthy. Or disposable. She wasn't sure which, but she knew she had a 50-50 chance.

Plus, he was dead wrong if he thought that what she learned from him was not going to be useful in any other research.

"I want to know," she said in a far steadier voice than she'd imagined. "But I can't promise I'll find your answer. Your blood is too different. Researching you will take a good deal of time, and I'll be unable to trace the drug until then. Max—it might take me years before I have any answer for you. And in the end, it might still be a _no_. I may never find a way to get you off it."

She'd rehearsed that little speech for the last four hours, not knowing what kind of reaction to expect. What met her words was sheer determination.

"I know. But I have to try."

That night they settled a weekly routine. She would report to him, he said, verbally and all copies of her work would be kept at the lab. _Nothing gets out of here,_ he added in that quiet yet menacing voice of his, no trace of vulnerability in those haunting eyes. "I need to settle some things," he said when he was putting his jacket on, "then we'll talk." He was gone before twenty minutes had passed, leaving behind him another full syringe.

When she saw him leave, she wondered what secrets Max carried other than his blood.


	3. Away

_January 12__th__, 2011 – Day 1578 __and __counting_

"Okay Max, you're ready to go," Frank says in his cheerful way, patting me twice on the shoulder as he's always done as long as I can remember. He's one of the few who've been part of my life since it began, so he's also one of the few who are not afraid of being in the same room with me.

He also gives me thorough monthly check-ups, and faster weekly ones. They used to be daily, but now that I'm all grown up, my body has stopped changing. I have not developed a new power for seven years now, and I reached my limit about four years ago, when I turned twenty-five. I can't heal myself faster, or move heavier objects, or sustain my shield longer than I did then, but Frank is always asking, always pushing to see if I have gotten just a little bit stronger.

He's also the one who gives me my weekly dose. We never talk about it. He doesn't like it any more than I do, but we are both powerless to stop it. It was the deal I agreed to. It is the deal I want to get out of.

He injects the amber liquid, and waits. He's looking for any ill reaction, and I'm not allowed to leave until an hour has passed. He sits behind his desk; I sit on his oversized green couch. We've been doing this for four years, 1578 days exactly, so we have this routine down to perfection.

There's no rush to this drug. I do not get high, or stunned, or delirious. I also don't get depressed, sleepy or in any way incapacitated. But my body feels _relief_. I _am_ addicted to this amber liquid to the point I almost feel myself salivating when I see it every week. If I miss it, even by one day, I start shaking. In two days I have a full blow withdrawal crisis. I might be curled up on the floor, shaking and desperate, but I still am in full control of my powers. And I would do _anything_ to get my dose.

They have only let me go through that twice, once to see my reaction, and the next one to make sure I wouldn't forget.

I think about it all the time.

I pick my book and make myself comfortable. The clock is ticking and it means I have fifty-eight more minutes to go before Frank declares I have survived another dose without my body outright breaking down in front of him. I've read his notes, and he thinks my metabolism will find a way to reject this drug eventually. I have lived four years of my life waiting for that to happen. It hasn't, of course, and I keep waiting. Once it happens, though, I'll disappear.

Working closely with Frank has taught me one more thing: it's not easy to work with my biology. The few things he knows for sure have taken him years to understand. That's why I had to start early on my escape plan. That's why I went to Dr. Parker last week. She's my plan B. It's going to be years before she finds anything, so chances are my body will figure it out first, and I won't have to depend on her.

On the other hand, I remind myself grimly, if plan A ever works, if my body does finally reject the drug and they find out about that— I might not even survive long enough to bask in my triumph.

* * *

**Chapter Three  
Away**

* * *

It was late when his orders arrived. He was supposed to go to Parker the next day, but there was no way around it. He couldn't contact her, but he told himself that it was okay. She didn't say anything to anyone the first two days. She didn't run for the hills. And when he finally went to see her a week ago, she'd looked at him as something _other._ Just like every new doctor who ever saw him for the first time: professionally, clinically. Detached. It meant her scientific mind was engaged. And that was all he ever expected from her.

Somewhere deep inside, it hurt. To not be seen as an equal, not a _who_ but a _what_. It shouldn't matter since disappointment seemed to always be part of his life, one way or another. He wanted to live free, it didn't matter what she thought of him.

It shouldn't matter, but it did.

He came back to the base three days later, his mission accomplished. Debriefing was always long where he was concerned, because there were too many things to explain, too many reports to fill out. What powers he'd used, for how long, at what time. Had anybody seen him?

That was their main concern: Had anybody seen him? He had to be careful, oh so careful, because if he was seen, chances were he would be put back in some dark corner. It would mean good-bye to his so called freedom, limited as it was. And his plan B.

By the time debriefing was done, he was too tired to play hide and seek and sneak out to go see Parker. Before he knew it, he was being drafted for another mission.

When he came back to the base from his fourth mission in a row, he started getting nervous. Maybe he had been followed. Maybe they were keeping him away so he wouldn't know Dr. Parker had just disappeared. More than ever, he wanted to go to her.

"Are you doing okay?" Frank asked, shining his pen-light on his eyes for the millionth time. Max used to think it was funny when he was a kid. It was just procedure now, meaningless and boring.

"I could use a little bit more sleep," Max said, barely suppressing a yawn, his words sounding slightly slurred. He wasn't sure in what time zone he was, but his body was pretty convinced it was nighttime somewhere. He needed to find a suitable bed _now_.

"They asked for you again, but I told them no," Frank said with a serious face. Several agencies used Max's abilities without really knowing what they were requesting, but Frank had the last word about Max's physical and mental health, and if he didn't give the green light, Max didn't go.

"Thank you," Max said sincerely. The price he paid for using his abilities without any resting time was that he needed his "fix" sooner, and Frank never liked to give him one outside schedule.

His left hand started shaking, right under the watchful eyes of his doctor. Frank frowned. "I'm keeping you here for the next two weeks. To hell with whatever they want."

Plan B would have to wait, he thought resignedly as he smiled to his friend.


	4. Reports

_Journal entry 3 – January 27__th__, 2011_

I haven't seen Max in three weeks, nor has he contacted me in any other way. I won't lie and say that I'm not worried there's going to be some man in a dark suit waiting for me at every turn I make, because I am. But I'm also far more worried about Max than I am for myself.

This is too important for him to just let it go. He was not playing with me. He _needs_ to know how far or how little I've advanced. So I'm afraid someone found out what he was trying to do. They might not have found out he's already contacted me, that I already know too much, but it doesn't mean he's okay.

A small voice in my head says he's testing me. That he wants to know if the small town girl has the guts to keep this secret and not run for the hills. And I have been tempted.

The lab has been full for the past weeks, and I haven't dared even to look at the blood sample until I'm totally alone. I'm also paranoid someone is going to take the sample by mistake, even if it is in my office under lock, so in full blown paranoia, I watch it like a hawk.

It's all gone now, the sample. There's only so much I can stretch it to last. If Max doesn't come soon, I won't be able to go any further.

If he doesn't come soon, I'm going to start believing it was all just an extremely vivid, extremely weird dream.

Even if I know better.

* * *

**Chapter Four  
Reports**

* * *

Liz was just about to leave when the shadow in the doorway made her stop.

"I was starting to wonder if I had dreamed you up," she said to try to lighten her heart. Maybe to lighten his, too. Maybe to just say something instead of stupidly staring at him.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, coming into the room and walking past her, as if they did this all the time to the point that _hello_ was no longer necessary. In his hands she saw a bag of Thai take out, her treacherous stomach grumbling in response. He placed the food at the end of her work station, and grabbed a stool to sit on.

He wasn't smiling, but his body language was friendly enough to indicate that he was expecting her to take a seat next to him.

_He looks tired,_ Liz thought, resisting the urge to stare as she put her things down. _He's tired and pretending not to be._ "Are you okay?" she asked, helping him take the food containers out.

"I'm always okay," he said with just the faintest bite of irony. She didn't ask for more.

He passed her the black plastic fork and knife. She opened a drawer and got a couple of dishes out. They worked efficiently and quietly, setting their dinner for two. Small talk was out of the question, and they both knew it.

"What do you have?" he asked before they started eating, the smell of spices and chicken doing funny things to her increasingly grumbling stomach.

"A lot of things— and not much, really," she answered, looking at her food since staring at him was out of the question. "It would help me to know a few things. I mean, if you… don't mind."

"Ask away," he said simply, sticking his fork in the orange colored rice.

"How old are you?"

"Officially, twenty-nine. Depending on what exactly you're counting, I can also be twenty-three." He grabbed for his natural tea. This time, she did stare at him.

"You don't look twenty-nine," she said stupidly, thinking _you don't look twenty-three_ would sound even worse. He didn't look like he was joking, either, but he _had_ to. What kind of age could be measured in two separate numbers?

"Thank you. Next?"

"I know you said they were drugging you so you would come back. Why would you run away?"

"How is that medically relevant?" this time, his amicable tone was gone. While she studiously avoided his gaze by watching her incredibly interesting mustard dressing on her salad, she could feel his piercing eyes on her. Her cheeks grew red.

"I— I just thought— maybe it was a physical reason. Something that would help me understand."

He hesitated, something she wasn't expecting. It was such an un-Max thing to do, really. He took another bite, thoughtful this time.

"There is," he said, lowering his fork, "I mean, there is a physical reason why they want me back. But it shouldn't be relevant to what you're looking for." He grabbed a small Tabasco bottle from an inner pocket in his jacket and started to pour it on his food. As with all things Max, it was strange enough that she had to stare at it, wondering how he was going to be able to swallow that fireball.

"Are you…" _going to be sick? _"allergic to anything?"

"No. And I've been tested extensively, so there's no doubt about that."

"Any illnesses?"

"None. I don't get sick."

"Not even a cold?"

"Not even that."

"Ever?"

"Ever," he whispered, not really seeing his food as he stuck the fork into it, lost in his own thoughts and memories of what it meant to always be healthy.

_It makes you different. _

Awkwardness filled the silence between them. Even taking a drink or two from her Snapple felt forced, yet her tolerance to Tai food demanded she drank something, however inappropriate the timing was. He started eating again, and she stopped drinking, thankful. Biting her lower lip, words eluded her to keep asking her questions.

"Is there any chance I could get any clean sample from you?"

He shook his head, his turn to take a long drink. "The most I can try is a couple of hours before my next dose."

She nodded in defeat.

"Max? How— how long have they been drugging you?"

"Four years, three months, twenty-five days… and counting," he recited it as if the number were printed on the plastic fork. He tried not to stab at his food this time, but failed miserably.

_What do you say to that? "I'm sorry"?_

"What did they use before? To keep you there?" she asked, starting to feel sick.

Max stopped again, thoughtful.

"Nothing," he answered in a cheerless tone. "They used nothing," he repeated, but his shoulders sagged a little, and his eyes lost focus for a moment. "Nothing chemical, anyway."

She nodded as if that actually made sense, slowly returning to her food. Silence stretched again for a couple of minutes as they both kept eating.

"Do they hurt you?" she whispered, unable to look at him, feeling her stomach becoming solid rock. She'd run some pretty wild theories in her mind, but the way Max spoke seemed to point to her darkest thoughts.

A moment went by. Another. She risked looking up, finding Max slowly chewing, thinking through his answer. "You mean… physically? No. I _am_ the only one they have. They sedate me for some testing, but it's in their best interest that I'm always at my top capacity. They are usually… decent people. I have nothing against them."

He looked at her, trying to see if she understood. Maybe trying to understand himself why he still respected the people he wanted to run away from. He looked at his food after a moment.

"About four years ago I helped them figure out some… complex things. They didn't think it was possible, but when I did… Let's just say it opened the world to me. So the problem became to have a leash on me while letting me do my newfound job."

"The drug."

"And blindly and stupidly I accepted." Frustration as palpable as the table they were eating on filled the space between them. "They'll never let me go, Doctor. No matter what I do, no matter how many orders I follow, or how willingly I participate on their schemes. I'm tired of living as a virtual prisoner, reporting to everyone, being told where to go, what to do, or who to—" He stopped, swallowing whatever he had in mind and his temper with it. It took him a moment, but he got his composure back. Now that he'd made his point, he stabbed at his food for his next bite in complete silence.

_O-kay…_

"What—what about your parents?"

"There aren't any," his tone was more subdued, though anger still lurked in his eyes. "I was created in a test tube."

"What? That's not possible!"

He shrugged, giving no importance to whatever she was about to say.

"No, Max. Science wasn't that advanced three decades ago. Hell, it's not advanced enough today!"

"I beg to differ," he said, still looking at his food and not her.

"I've seen pretty advanced stuff. Gene manipulation is in its infancy. What you are— whatever hybridization they say they created— it's still eons away."

"Think whatever you want."

It sounded so final when he said it like that. She felt insulted that he would place so little trust in her knowledge.

"They've been drugging you for four years, practically keep you a prisoner, and you _believed_ them when they told you that?"

That stopped him in his tracks. "What else could it be?" he asked, for the first time in his life pondering the mysteries of his origins, it seemed.

She'd been thinking about it for three weeks straight and she had plenty of absurd theories running around in her head.

"I don't know, but you being created in a test tube thirty years ago is _not_ the answer."


	5. Roadblock

_January 30th, 2011 – Day 1580 and counting_

The thing about Parker is that she's right.

From the first moment I asked when I was a little kid, I was told that I was a very special boy. Their miracle. They created me, and I was everything they had hoped for. As I grew up, the explanation became more elaborate, complex, but I remained the center of the wonderment, and what's not to like about that, right?

Yes, I was a test subject, but that never bothered me. I didn't know better, and they didn't seem concerned about it either. I didn't have a reason to distrust them.

What I never asked, what I never even thought about was, if I were such a wonderful boy, why didn't they make more of me?

* * *

**Chapter Five  
Roadblock**

* * *

"Hey, how was the park?" Frank asked entering the small kitchen while Max chugged on his second bottle of water. He'd been running his usual five miles, and it showed.

"Cold and empty," Max replied, trashing the bottle into the plastics container in one perfect arc.

"Beats running on the treadmill, huh?" Frank pointed out, a smile on his face. The smell of coffee filled the small room as he filled his mug.

"Yeah," Max answered, not as enthusiastically.

He had run on a treadmill for the first twelve years of his life, not only because he needed to exercise, but because his endurance had to be measured. Every time he'd broken his previous record, he'd felt so elated. He'd given them his best, so it hurt to wonder why they hadn't done the same with him. Why hadn't they trusted him with the truth?

Was there _a_ truth to begin with? What if Parker was wrong, after all? _Only one way to find out._

"Oh, I was wondering," Max said, putting his half-thought plan in motion, "can I borrow your computer for a minute?"

Frank took his coffee mug and swallowed a drink before answering. "Sure. I'll be there in a moment."

"Thanks."

He hoped the coffee would last Frank a whole lot more time than it probably would, but he still didn't run to his office. Four locked doors stood between him and Frank's lab, and none of them represented a problem for him. In fact, half the missions he ever did needed him to get through doors.

No one looked twice when he entered the empty office.

Most of the time, a part of Max's job consisted in retrieving information. It was someone else's job to decipher it, analyze it, do whatever it was they did with it. It didn't mean he didn't know his way around computers, at least to an extent.

Passwords, on the other hand, were trickier. If he wasn't careful, he would end up frying the hard drive. Luckily for Frank, Max already knew his password.

Sparing one glanced at the closed door, Max went right to the heart of the files. Frank was a very organized guy, and his filing system did not disappoint.

"Come on, come on…" Tons of reports appeared at every click: about the last missions, about supplies, about the budget. He wasn't interested in those things. He was interested in getting Parker her files, the ones that would have his blood composition minus the drug.

He also wanted a couple of answers for himself.

Test results were never hidden from him. If he knew about himself, he could take care of himself. But information like biochemistry and genetics hadn't been something anyone thought he should know, including himself. That didn't matter now, either. What she'd said, about his origins, that had most definitely interested him.

If he'd been created in a test tube, there were bound to be thousands of files about the trials, about the donors, about the entire thing. Somewhere, deep inside, he was both excited and afraid that maybe there _were_ more like him, siblings in a way, who had been kept from him.

He didn't know how to feel about that, but as the mouse kept clicking, Max started to look more and more at the door. Frank would not take much longer now.

_There,_ he said under his breath, finding the files on his drug test results, part of what Parker had asked him. And _there_ was also a problem: Frank didn't keep files older than three years on his hard drive. Nothing from before he'd started taking the drug would be on this computer.

Physical copies were not stored in here. If Frank wanted to see old data, he would connect to the network and get the files from the main server.

"Damn it!" he cursed quietly. It was one thing to go through Frank's computer, it was an entirely another to log in from there and roam through the server's files.

He needed a hacker. He needed it now.


	6. Long Distance

_Journal entry 4, February 3__rd__, 2011_

This thing is consuming me.

And it's not just what I'm working with, what I'm seeing under the microscope. It's the secret. It's the mystery around Max. Does he even have a last name?

Ever since he took over my life a month ago, nothing else seems to exist. I get Mom's phone calls, Maria's phone calls, I give my reports to my boss, and I finish my work. I do the grocery shopping on weekends. But through all of that, all I can think about is the latest blood sample and the next test I want to run.

I'm also writing a list of questions I want to ask but don't dare yet. Max wasn't happy about my curious mind last time we saw each other, and they are not _medically relevant_ as he put it. Yet I'm hoping that someday, over Thai food, he'll tell me.

* * *

**Chapter Six  
Long Distance**

* * *

"Ms. Parker, ladies and gentlemen!" Alex's voice came through the headphones, all energy and laughter. She'd been meaning to disconnect from her Skype two hours before, and then she'd forgotten.

Now, one of her best friends in the world was connected all the way from Norway and wanted to chat. She smiled, while nervously watching the door. They didn't have a particular day in the week, but last time Max had come it had been a Tuesday. Now was Thursday, and she got a nagging feeling that, if Max showed up tonight, he would have something interesting in his hands.

Or maybe he wasn't coming back. That was always a distinct possibility.

"Alex! How've you been?"

"Same old, same old. Listen, I have twelve e-mails from Maria complaining that you haven't written to her in a month. Anything I should know about?"

"Besides that she's a total drama queen?"

On and on they went, until she forgot all about watching the door, and became absorbed in catching up with her friend. Alex Whitman, senior chief of his own software company. And if everything went okay, he might be doing some software work for her boss's company in two months. He would serve as a developer and consultant, but maybe he would be able to catch a flight once in a while to the US. She hadn't seen him in the flesh for four years, and they both joked that once she won the Nobel Prize, she would meet him for lunch in Oslo.

A shadow caught her attention, and sure enough, Max stood on the doorway.

"Um, listen, Alex, I'm running late for something, but you should connect more often!"

"Says she, who goes underground for weeks on end! Take care of yourself, Parker."

She took a deep breath and turned to look at the main reason she should have a care of herself: Max.

"Doctor," he said, slightly inclining his head as he came into the lab.

"Max," she greeted back, feeling awkward again. This was the fourth time they'd met, and she still had a moment of flight or fight instinct kicking in every time she saw him.

Since last week, she'd wondered if Max was some sort of supernatural being. Was there a reason why he always came at night? As in, maybe the sunlight affected him?

On the other hand, she'd grown up in Roswell, New Mexico. She _knew_ the kind of alien theories that made everyone laugh but that could, potentially, fit Max's past. The gene work she'd done on Max's samples seemed to back her up. Not that she was going to blurt it out. She'd gotten enough angry vibes from Max last time she'd poked into his origins.

"I found three year old files, but I haven't been able to open them up and read them. I don't have the right software, and I didn't want to risk being caught with it… I'm not sure if what I bring is just trash."

He gave her a USB flash drive, and once it was in her hand she didn't know whether to dive into it right away, or if Max wanted something else first.

"Report?" he quietly asked when she looked at him a little too long.

"I'm starting to get a sense of what's you and what's foreign. Is there any chance you could get me an actual dose?"

He shook his head. "Frank has them counted. It would be too obvious if one went missing."

_Frank?_

"What about the formula? Too much to ask?"

Max sat in a stool on the next lab station. "It's not made where I am. It's not made by the people who… know me."

He carefully chose that last word, Liz noticed. She nodded twice, and looked at the flash drive in her hand.

"Maybe he doesn't make it, but maybe Frank _does_ have the formula."

In went the little device, and Max stood behind her. She started to copy the files onto her hard drive. In the monitor, Alex's Skype window was still open, proudly displaying to the world, "I'm a 00110010 kind of person".

"Your friend is into computers?" Max asked, reading Alex's status. She nodded.

"Almost got expelled from school for hacking into the system just to prove he could do it. Don't worry, he lives in Norway. And I—I haven't told anyone about… anything." It was _her_ time to choose her words. Max simply nodded.

She opened the main folder, and 43 new folders came into view. They all were labeled with initials, and clicking on the first one, she was met with 365 files. All dates. A file per day. She thought she kept tight records on her work, but this Frank guy put her to shame.

"Do you know what the initials mean?" she asked.

"No…" he said in resignation, frustration filling his eyes.

"Okay… It'll take me a while, but… it's worth it, right?"

"I don't want you working through files," he said under his breath. He stepped away and looked at the ceiling, clearly thinking something through. "Leave the files alone for now. I'll try to see if I can get you something more refined. You keep working on what you were doing."

She bit her lower lip. "I need more samples from you. And not just blood."

"Okay," he didn't even blink. "I don't have time right now, and I'm probably going to be on duty all next week, but I'll see what I can do for my next visit."

He kept staring at her monitor, at the long list of files he didn't want her to waste time on.

"It'll take time," she said in a low voice, reminding him something he already knew. "But we'll figure it out."

"There's a chance…" he started, unsure if he should continue. "There's a chance my body will work this out by itself. So if I stop coming, don't… do anything. Trash it all. Leave nothing behind, okay? Just because I disappear doesn't mean you have free rein with what you have."

_You might be dead,_ was the thought that flashed on her mind. "Can't you just… let me know? That you are okay, I mean."

"Once I'm off this thing, I'm off the map, too. It'll be too risky for me. _And_ for you. You agreed to a lot of risks when you accepted my offer, Doctor. You don't need to add more to that list."

He took the flash drive out. A minute later, he was gone.


	7. Learning Curve

_February 25__th__, 2011 – Day 1601 and counting_

_Max…_

Maggs is by my side the moment I wake up. Although _wake up_ might be too strong a word.

Maggs is in her late fifties, seldom wears her lab coat, and they always call her when I have to be sedated for too-invasive testing. She's the person I trust the most besides Frank in this place, and just like him, she's been around me my whole life.

Once I started going on missions, I stopped seeing her as often. Whereas Frank is always with me when I'm at the base, Maggs just comes around every once in a while. And always when I'm feeling like crap.

"Hey…" she whispers, the light in the room dim to sooth my nerves. I try to sit up, and she stops me by placing a hand on my chest. It aches. _Everything _aches. Anesthesia and I are not good friends. "Shh… There's no rush."

But there is. I have to take my fix today. They picked today precisely because of that, so they can see some results about something or other that I can't recall right now. My body craves it. But I know how this goes: they won't give it to me until they are sure I'm out of the woods with the anesthetic. Which will take a couple of hours at best.

I start trembling.

Maggs soothes me, her hand lightly going up and down on my arm. Just like Frank, she was against me taking the drug, but she wasn't as vocal. She knew how important it was to me to go out. She also knew it wouldn't happen without me accepting the deal.

"I would have come back…" I whisper, watching the ceiling as I try to ignore my body's need for my fix. "I would have always come back…"

I feel tears pricking at my eyes. I'm always so emotional when I'm coming off these things that I should just go with it. There's nothing I can do against it, but a part of me is always ashamed about it.

Maggs doesn't say anything, and through her touch I got the distinct notion that she doesn't believe me. That once I had been out there, I wouldn't have come back. We'll never know now, will we?

All I can think about is how much I want this to stop.

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
Learning Curve**

* * *

The last time he saw Parker, she inadvertently gave him an idea: learning to hack couldn't be that difficult if her friend had started doing it in High School.

His brain absorbed knowledge like a sponge, although if he went too fast or had too much, he would just shut down. That was the reason why he hardly ever scanned anything larger than a blue-print. He didn't have eidetic memory, but scanning was something similar: He could hold the picture crystal clear in his head for about a week. And then it was gone. It became part of his everyday memories, and he would still be able to recall some details, but not the whole thing.

He could learn languages fairly easy as well, but without practice, he would eventually lose the knowledge as well.

So hacking was something he needed to learn the slow way, and he wasn't sure if Frank would like him doing that or not. He was always so eager to see Max trying his hand at something new, and it would be so much easier to get this done if Max didn't have to sneak around it.

"I have a new project," Max announced with a mischievous smile, the same one that had gotten him extra ice cream when he was seven. Frank stopped typing and looked at him with raised eyebrows. The last time those words had been said, they had been coming from Frank. And they had ended Max a drug addict somewhere down the road. "Hacking."

Frank's eyebrows went higher. "You're already good with computers," he pointed out.

"I want to be better."

They looked at each other for a moment. It was at times like this that Max felt Frank could see through his very soul. "Getting bored with the books?" Frank smiled, referring to Max's choice of entertainment. Internet was not restricted to him, but he had to report weekly why he had chosen to see whatever he had chosen to see, so books were easier to explain than fifty thousand random pages that had showed up on his browser.

"Something like that…" he smiled back.

It took the better part of two hours to convince Frank that this was not a grand scheme that needed anyone's permission. He was just curious about hacking, and didn't want to be questioned about it till death did him apart. He already had to fill out a dozen reports per week with the little he already did. Plus, Frank would be responsible for his own reports on Max's progress. Metrics would be needed. Tests designed. And all just because he was bored.

It didn't really matter if Frank agreed or not to do this without anyone else watching over his shoulder, but it would certainly make it easier if no one knew the new skill he'd gotten. So when Frank finally gave in and started warming up to the idea of watching Max learning a new skill without having to do the million boring reports, Max's spirits were high.

Not even when he realized that hacking into school records was light years away from hacking into the main server three days later did he lose that sense of victory.


	8. In Shadows

_Journal entry 5, March 12th, 2011_

I've just realized I'm doing this wrong. In my rush to get this mystery solved, to understand Max, I've been trying to look at this in a straightforward manner.

Nothing is straightforward with Max.

It's not his blood alone that is going to spill the secrets of that drug. I have to play the devil's advocate here and understand why he's being given that sort of drug to begin with. Is he violent and it keeps him calm? Does it enhance his physical or mental abilities?

What happens when he's off it?

And as much as I want to trust him, should I really help him escape?

* * *

**Chapter Eight  
In Shadows**

* * *

"I was beginning to worry you weren't coming anymore," Liz's voice was just calm enough to make that sound like a friendly hello. At least she hoped so. She'd been finishing the day's work, locking up files and checking everything was off. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but for a month now, she'd been giving Max five minutes extra to come. Or ten.

On the doorframe, Max's silhouette looked odd. Hunched slightly.

"Are you okay?" she asked, standing up, her attempt at lightness forgotten.

Max walked into the room then, his eyes looking more than tired. All of him looked drained. His hair was disarrayed, the telltale dark circles under his eyes a silent testament to his lack of sleep. Even the way he walked was slower, almost clumsy.

"I'm fine. Listen, I only have a couple of minutes before they start wondering where I am. What do you have for me?"

Even that tinge of arrogance that was usually in his voice was gone. All he really wanted right now was a bed, that much Liz could tell.

"I—I—" she stuttered, caught between the sight of Max like this and the memory of their last almost-fight. No fire was in Max tonight. "I'm done with all the average tests," she said, getting her mind on track. "Some things make sense, some… well…"

"I know. What's next?"

"Why are they drugging you?" she asked point blank, the question coming out like an accusation. Max actually seemed to stagger back.

"I thought I already told you why?" he answered with uncertainty, his hands going to his eyes. He was trying to suppress a yawn.

"No, I mean—I mean what's the reasoning behind this particular drug, physically… um, chemically? Does it make you better? Does it keep you alive?"

"It keeps me on a leash," Max answered with annoyance. Obviously, he hadn't paid attention to anything beyond the point of how this was screwing up his life.

"I know. Max, I'm not asking this out of some morbid curiosity—"

"No? Aren't _all_ your questions about some morbid curiosity about the experimental subject you have in front of you? Don't you go night after night wondering what's the secret locked in my cells? What am I, Doctor? What am I, if not your lab rat for your dream project?"

Whatever had Max in a bad mood, was definitely turning darker. He stood barely three feet from her, but an abyss opened between.

"That's _not _fair. _You_ came to me. _You_ want out of this!"

He glared at her. She glared back.

His eyes lost focus for a moment, and he reflexively leaned on the counter where she'd been working until five minutes ago. He rubbed his forehead a moment later.

"I haven't slept in three days and I'm not even sure if I'm dreaming this conversation," he explained a moment later. "What do you need, Doctor?"

It wasn't an apology, but she was more than willing to take it as that. She sighed, collecting her thoughts as best as she could. It had been a long week, and antagonizing the man with the deadly skills was not smart either.

"I need to know what happens when they give you the drug, what effects does it have on you? It will help me narrow down my choices on where to look next."

"None. I don't feel anything. I'm not better or worse than I was four years ago when I wasn't taking it. Believe me, they have tested me a million times. But if I don't have it, things get bad, _fast._ If I miss it two hours, I start shaking. Six, I lose my muscular strength. A day—" he broke of, suddenly alert at something he'd heard. He stood up, anxious now.

Liz's eyes went to the door, her heart all that she could hear. For one horrible instant, she _knew_ they had been caught.

"Listen, I can get you a video if you'd like, but I don't have time for this now. Do you want my blood?"

She nodded, her eyes still glancing at the door. Sure, she needed to sit him down and go step by step on the circumstances surrounding the use of this drug. But with the threat of discovery so vivid in her mind right now, all she wanted was for him to go.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked one last time as the syringe filled with the dark red of his blood two minutes later.

"I will be once you get me out of there," he answered with barely the hint of a smile.

"I'm going as fast—"

"I know," he said, meaning it, the syringe now full. "I just—I just need for things to calm down. I might not come for a couple of weeks."

"Okay… I'll have a list of questions for you to take home—"

"No," he cut her sentence, his eyes one hundred percent in the here and now. "If I'm caught with those, it's over. I'll make time on my next visit."

As usual, all that was left of Max a moment later was a vial of blood and a whole lot of unanswered questions.


	9. Through the Hoops

_March 15__th__, 2011 – Day 1618 and counting_

There's nothing like your birthday to have everyone pay attention to you. And this year, celebrations started earlier.

My earliest memories are of Frank and Maggs looking at me on my bed. I don't really remember many specifics, as life was a constant routine for the first two years. A lot of learning, a lot of games.

Many people were in my life back then, a lot of white coats, and false smiles and hungry eyes. I didn't understand why back then, but I was aware I didn't like those people. I still don't.

I was always trying to be better. To impress them. And I got plenty of rewards and genuine smiles from a few of them. But as time went on, fewer and fewer people were allowed anywhere near me.

Knowing about me requires a clearance level so high they had to make up a new name for it. Or that's what Frank tells me, anyway. Unfortunately, once you get that clearance, it's hard to not see you around again.

And so, for the past two weeks, I've had to put up with Frank's nemesis and the bane of my existence: Dr. Samuel Summers.

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
Through the Hoops**

* * *

"I think we would have known if Max was capable of telepathy by this point," the ever diplomatic Frank said with just a touch of impatience. That Summers thought Frank was beneath him and was taking things extremely soft and easy with Max was no secret. That Max foiled every single test as much as he could to disappoint Summers, was.

Alas, telepathy was really out of his league.

"And now?" Summers went on with the white cards, completely ignoring Frank's latest comment.

Hooked to so many electrodes he'd lost count, Max stared at the back of the white card. A star, a circle, three lines, any of a number of geometrical figures could be behind, and Max was half trying to actually see what Summers was seeing. The irony was that, had Max really had the ability to read minds, he would stay out of Summers's at all costs. Something was wrong with that man's soul.

"You're not even trying…" Summers warned, his green eyes getting darker.

"It's like Frank says, we've been doing this exercise my whole life, and I never get anything."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Yeah, some of us think that has more to do with technique than with talent," Summers explained, placing the card face down. "Some think you would reach higher standards and accomplish better results if you were pushed in the right direction, by the right people."

It had never really occurred to Max that Frank could be replaced. That one day he would come from one of those missions to find a new doctor to handle him.

The mere idea of Summers giving him his weekly dose was chilling enough. Frank would understand once Max disappeared. Summers would hunt him down like a dog.

"We've tried a lot of methods, Samuel," Frank said, making Max cringe internally at their first-name status. "Maybe telepathy is one place where he just can't go. Or maybe he needs another telepath for it to work."

"That would be useless, now wouldn't it?" Summers answered, shuffling the cards thoughtfully, slowly. Calculating.

It was light years away from how Parker's eyes looked. It had been unfair of him to accuse her of seeing him as a lab experiment when he'd presented himself as one to begin with. With Summers around, though, it was hard not to feel claustrophobic and so utterly used.

If Max could read thoughts, though, he would be able to read their enemies' plans. Passwords, codes, meetings. The possibilities were endless. It would make escaping much more difficult, as well.

"Now, what's the card?"

With all his telemetry being recorded, Summers was aware of how much effort Max was actually putting into the task. Heart rate, oxygen, adrenaline, brain activity, it all changed when he was using his powers, or even when he was thinking about using them. _The sooner he sees you can't do this, the sooner he'll leave,_ he coached himself, getting ready for one more time.

Three days ago he'd been wiped out after twelve hours of telekinesis gymnastics. Frank had let him go to get his head clear, and all he'd been able to think about was Parker and how much she might have advanced. He'd gone to her straight like an arrow, his idiotic impulse almost costing him his little secret. No one had been following him, but it had been pure luck. With Summers around, all bets were off.

"Hmm… pity," the doctor finally said five minutes later, for once assured Max _had_ been trying his hardest. He didn't look pleased.

Behind him, Frank looked grim.

"Maybe there's something else I can do with the card," Max hurried to say, eager to please Summers so he would leave Frank alone.

"I'm listening," Summers said, while Frank frowned. With all his powers cataloged and tested, there was hardly any ace under his sleeve to show.

"I can't see what's on the card right now, but I can change it to whatever I want."

"By touching it, yes—" Summers said, unimpressed.

"We've been trying to eliminate the touching part," Frank interrupted, "but Max gets headaches, bad enough that he has to stop for the entire day. It's not viable for field use."

Frank's murderous glare at Max was impossible to miss. They both knew what was going to happen next before Summers opened his mouth. The good doctor would test Max extensively until either Max got it right, or Summers got tired of waiting for it to happen.

"Oh, that sounds interesting. Tell me more about it."


	10. True Colors

_Journal entry 6, March 30th, 2011_

It's hard not to keep staring at the calendar, counting how many days go by, wondering if tonight's the night. Two weeks have passed since I last saw him, and although it doesn't mean he'll be standing in the doorway tomorrow, it does mean chances are he'll be here this week.

Lately, I've been wondering more and more what does he do between our meetings? Does he work for the CIA or the FBI? Does he spend endless hours being debriefed? And does he travel around the world, coming and going from exotic locations?

What sort of life does Max have, really?

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
True Colors**

* * *

"Tell me you have something." The desperation in Max's words was thinly veiled in his voice, and full blown in his eyes. Liz had been about to turn off the lights when he'd come literally around the corner.

_Something's changed,_ she thought fleetingly, her hand still on the light switch. She'd been that close to leaving.

"I've just ordered some fancy new equipment to run some new tests," she said, her eyes taking in Max's body as she moved to stand in front of him. He'd lost weight in the two weeks since she'd seen him, and he looked even more exhausted than last time.

"So that's a no," he said dejectedly, leaning against his doorframe, as she'd come to think of his usual spot. All it was missing was a plaque saying _I belong to Max _to make it official_. _The lights flickered for a moment, making her look up.

"Not exactly," Liz corrected, placing her purse on the counter and moving back to her lab station. Max followed her inside. "What it means is that I've discarded a lot of obvious possibilities, and now I'm concentrating on drug groups. I do have the list of questions if you have the time…?"

"God, I forgot about the video and your samples," he said as he sat down on the stool next to hers, opening a drawer and getting a syringe out.

"Is… is everything okay?" Liz asked, sure her questions would be ignored.

"I'm just tired," he said dismissively while she went to her office to get the questions. She'd spent fourteen days editing and re-editing that list, but she was still nervous about it. Max was never the answering type.

He'd filled two vials of blood by the time she sat down. Curiously, he was drinking coffee from a Starbucks cup when she came back, most likely bought from the store a block away. It was a little sign that civilization still existed outside the shadowy confines of her lab.

_He doesn't look good,_ she noticed privately. Max was never a bundle of joy, but he was never this down either.

"Let me guess, black with no sugar?" she asked teasingly, trying to get him away from the cloud of problems that hung over his head.

"Black, yes, with _lots_ of sugar," he corrected, raising the cup in silent cheers. "There's not enough sugar on Earth," he added, sipping it again. It dissipated some of the tension in his shoulders.

"You really should get more rest," she said, looking him in the eye, the sheet of paper in her hands forgotten for one second.

"Now that_ he's_ gone, I will," he answered in a quiet tone. So many nameless people were around him, and she had no way to follow. "So, shoot."

"Okay… Okay… How many doses did they give you before you felt addicted to it?"

Max's hand moved reflexively on the cup, gripping it harder. The lights acted up again, flickering as if a power outage was imminent.

"About a month, I guess…" Max said, ignoring their electrical problem, "I didn't really feel any addiction between shots, so I wouldn't know."

"Four doses, once a week, then?" she asked, writing it down.

"Four… maybe six… not more than that," he was thoughtful, nursing his cup. "But you've got to understand, my metabolism is really different. Some things affect me really fast, some don't even make a dent."

_It can never be easy with you, can it?_

"Has it ever given you any reactions? A rash… nausea… headaches?"

He winced at that, his hand gripping the cup even tighter.

"No, it never—" he raised the cup to his lips as he searched for the right answer, "All it does is stop me from going into withdrawal." He sipped, and as he did, something strange started to happen to the cup. Strange enough for Liz to stare at it.

_It's a trick of the light,_ she told herself, the green trademark color of the cup suddenly looking rather red.

"What?" Max asked a second later, clearly unaware of what was happening to his coffee. Following her line of sight, he turned to look at the cup, his face stunned for a moment. "Oh…" It was yellow now.

"How—ho—" Liz tried to ask, stuck. Max looked at the cup more intently, the yellow turning to dark green once more. She stepped back, her eyes glued to his hands.

"Doctor, it's nothing—"

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Mostly about what those hands could do, mostly about how much she didn't know about him. She stood up before her mind could consciously arrive to the conclusion that he wasn't human, therefore, she wasn't safe.

She almost tripped on her way back, trying to escape to somewhere, anywhere, as far as she could go.

"Stay away from me!" she whispered. The lights flickered once more.

"I'm the same man I was two months ago."

_And that's just it, isn't it? I have no idea what kind of man you are. _

She shook her head as he slowly rose from the stool, his eyes almost miserable, almost—

He yawned. He yawned in that way people do when they'd been working for far too many hours, so that the only thing they can think of is sleep. He yawned with completely disregard for her mounting terror. He yawned because he was clearly at the end of his rope, at the end of caring anymore.

She felt rather stupid, staring at him as he tried to shut his mouth, tears of tiredness escaping down his cheeks. Down to his molecular level, he was nothing like her, but here, standing in front of her, he was as human as the next guy.

It hit her like a high speed train. "They've been using you."

All her fears evaporated at that one realization. He could—he could _what?_ What would it take to change the physical color of a structure? Her scientific mind got lost in the details, but it didn't derail her from the truth of it all. "They've been using you so hard you can barely stay awake."

"Yeah, that's it in a nutshell," he said with a tired, dark chuckle. He sighed deeply, resigned. "But the man behind that is gone. Unfortunately, he left me with some control issues. I didn't mean to startle you."

It all came back to her in a rush. From the first moment she saw him, all the way to the here and now with the cup incident. It all made _sense._ "This is why you're running."

"This is why they leashed me," he corrected her, sitting down again. "It's all rather complicated, and I wish I had the focus right now to explain it, but suffice it to say that this changes nothing. I can do some magic tricks, don't think of it beyond that."

"_Don't_ think of it beyond that? Are you kidding me? Two minutes ago I would have said that what you did was impossible. Now I can't even think fast enough to try to come up with _ideas_ of how it works."

"That's not what should matter to you," Max said in a rather threatening way.

"But don't you see? Understanding how it all happens will help us get the answers you're looking for faster!"

"Understanding it—What do you think I did the last two weeks?" the question had enough bitterness to stop Liz short. "That's what they're trying to do. That's what they're _always_ trying to do. You're not going to understand it, Dr. Parker. You'll have the samples, and I'll answer your questions. But forget about what you just saw."

Max stood up, the cup still in his hand. He looked so much older than when he'd come through that door back in January; he had practically aged before her eyes right now at implying how much everyone wanted a piece of him. He turned to leave, as he always did.

"Max?" she asked to his back.

"Do you have more questions?" he asked flatly, not looking at her.

_Yes, twenty-six, but you don't need this right now, do you?_

"No. Just… Be careful." 

* * *

**AN:** Hey! This is actually one of my favorite chapters. Do you have any fave scene so far?


	11. Snapshot

_April 7th, 2011 – Day 1639 and counting_

Something changed a week ago. Something I'm not sure if I it like or not, and while I try to decide it—to _understand_ the risks of it—I'm trapped. I can't go to her until I make a choice, I can't search for a way out, I can't trust that I'm making the right choice. I can't—_God! _It's as if I'm unable to concentrate for more than thirty seconds before thoughts of that cup, the flickering light bulb, and the smell of disinfectant start playing in my memory again and again.

I can't stop hearing Parker's warning about being careful. It's the way she said it, without her really knowing what I'm up against, that haunts me. I was expecting the rejection, and of course, the hunger in her eyes to take me apart in as many pieces as she could.

I expected the fear, I _prepared_ for it, but I never expected it to dissolve so fast. The way her eyes went from sheer terror to utter understanding is unnerving, almost as if she could see through my soul. I've never heard anyone besides Frank and Maggs say _be careful_ and mean it. And I can't let myself think she means it.

The crazy thing is, all she saw was me changing the color of a cup. What would she think if she knew about all my powers?

Or what I do with them?

* * *

**Chapter Eleven  
Snapshot**

* * *

"The primary target will be at point D at 1100 hours," Captain Meyers explained to Max. "The team will cover your entry through point C, from here, here, and here. Our window of opportunity will be limited to three and a half minutes, tops."

Max's eyes followed the blueprints, the team leader's voice confident. He'd already scanned them with all the exits and evacuation routes, but reviewing the plan with the whole team was always necessary. His life depended on these men and women doing their job with deadly precision. In an operation like this, timing was everything.

"The secondary target will be at point E, but we're not hopeful about getting that far. The security system codes would require more time than we've got."

_Says you_, Max thought, visualizing what he had to do. Dozens upon dozens of surveillance photos were neatly stacked by his side. He'd been studying them from the moment he got on the plane until the moment he entered the makeshift headquarters. It was a good plan, far better than half the missions Max had done.

Stationed three blocks away from their objective, the adrenaline of the upcoming mission started to run in his veins. All in all, he'd be less than four hours in this foreign country. He wondered absently what it would be like to be a tourist. To actually get to know a little about where he was.

The review went on for fifteen more minutes. Once it ended, they had half an hour before showtime.

Going to the corner, Max changed his clothes into a guard's uniform, taking his time in the task of undressing and dressing again. It helped calm his nerves and keep his mind clear.

"What exactly do you do?" the guy in front of him asked. It was not an unusual question, but it often came with the envy and arrogance of older Black Ops. This time the question was curious. It came from their team's hacker.

"I bypass security in a way no one else can," Max answered truthfully. "You'll see."

"We've been planning this thing for months," the hacker said, passing his hands over his blond hair. "And then they told us we've gotten ourselves a 'specialist', whatever _that_ means. I'm even contemplating hacking your file just to see why suddenly everyone in the high command was so happy."

"You can do that?" Max asked, a ray of hope forming and then fading. He couldn't risk asking anyone getting to his files. He couldn't let anyone know how badly he wanted them.

"I... I think I'm not going to answer that," the guy said slowly, looking rather afraid.

"But it _could_ be done, right?" Max pressed. With everything that had happened with Summers and Parker, he hadn't had much time to go back to his hacking studies. Needless to say, progress was slow.

"Damn straight it can be done! There's no perfect system, no impenetrable fortress, just people who give up too soon. Everything can be hacked, my friend, if you have the... _dedication_ and mental skills, of course."

"Of course."

"And so you know, with or without you, we would've solved that security system issue sooner or later."

"Right."

Max started tying his boots. He could fuse the laces together and stopped worrying about them, but this was the part he liked the best. His fingers moved methodically, passing the laces through every hoop and every twist.

"Tell you what, let's make this interesting," the hacker said, maybe getting frustrated with Max's lack of sharing about his work secrets, maybe because this was _his _way of keeping calm. "If you can get to the target without me figuring out how, I'll hack whatever you want. Your girlfriend's e-mail? Someone's bank account? Oh! Criminal records!"

"If you can get my file, I'll be impressed enough," Max answered without thinking, tying the laces tight with one last yank.

The guy smiled, clearly interested in the bargain.

By the time Max reached point B forty minutes later, he could feel the hacker's eyes on his back as if he were really behind him.

_What will happen if he_ does _get my file?_ Max wondered nervously, waiting for the diversion which would take the real guards away. The cameras would go on a loop next, and he'd be free to move to his target's location then.

_If I tell him not to do it now, I'll only make him more curious._

The red light on top of the camera blinked three times, the sign that he was good to go. From this moment on, he had three minutes and twenty seconds to go in and get out. That was two minutes ten seconds more than his target had to live.


	12. Friends

_Journal entry 7, April 21st, 2011_

It's funny how things change. Or rather, how our perception of them changes. It's the same doorframe, but now it's _his_ doorframe. They are the same strange blood cells, except now they hold far more secrets than I thought.

The same DNA, except maybe the non-human part of it starts to look more alien than synthetic.

The same calendar, but as the days pass by and he doesn't come back, I might be staring at the last time I ever saw him.

I don't know what exactly I saw that night three weeks ago, but I know the way he looked at me—as if I were some sort of traitor. I _know_ I told him to be careful, but did he listen?

How many people does he have to listen to?

* * *

**Chapter Twelve  
Friends**

* * *

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" The high-pitched voice of her best friend in the world sounded misplaced in the quiet lab.

"Maria!" Liz exclaimed, leaving her microscope behind as she met and hugged the blonde with the fiery green eyes. "I was going to pick you up tomorrow!"

"I know! I got a plane earlier, and there's still time to go out for take-out!"

_Yes, sure. There's also enough time for Max to come, too._

Squashing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Liz started the process of shutting the lab down, securing the samples, turning off equipment. All the while, Maria was speaking a million miles per hour about how her business was doing, the guys she'd been dating, and the crappy food on the plane. The normalcy that her words brought was priceless for Liz's nerves.

She'd missed Maria _a lot. _

"So, tell me. Are there any hot lab techs around?"

"Maria! I'm their boss!"

"Aha! There _are _hot lab techs around, then!"

Liz hesitated at that. Between the blood tests and the glares, and the endless questions and the color changing cup, she _had_ seen enough of Max's biceps. Whatever he was being used for, he was kept in good shape.

_God, I'm a terrible person for thinking that._

"Spill!" Maria squealed, picking up on Liz's silence, if not in her inner turmoil.

"He's not— I mean, he's so not—"

"Boyfriend material? What? Is he liked married or something?"

_You can bet he's _or something.

"He's just not around. He kinda… sorta… _travels_ a lot," she finished. She was such a terrible liar, she was sure Maria was going to see through it. In fact, Maria was so good at it, she was going to read on her face every single time Max had stood on that doorframe, every secret he had told her, even know what type of hybrid he was.

"A mystery man! How exciting!"

Or not.

"How come Alex hasn't said anything about this? Are you keeping Mr. Perfect in the shadows?"

Liz swallowed. She was pretty sure Max would not be amused if he knew she talked about him in this way. Or any way.

"He's not Mr. Perfect. If anything, he just stormed off the office three weeks ago and hasn't called back."

_But then again, he's not around to hear me talk about him. _She wasn't going to tell Maria anything further than this, but opening up about how frustrated and worried she was about Max helped her soul. Just a few words, just a few half-truths to get it off her chest.

"Oh. My. God. You're dating him!"

_No, I'm taking him apart, molecule by molecule. Isn't that romantic?_

"No! I'm helping him with something. Besides, even if he didn't have all this baggage, and if he didn't have that attitude, _and_ if he actually were around, he's so not interested in me."

_Especially if he thinks all I see in him are blood cells and DNA sequences._

"Gay?"

_God, I hope not. _

Liz sighed, her hand reaching for the switch to turn off the light, ready to leave Max's ghost behind in the lab and have a girls' night out.

"You're impossible," she said to Maria.

"You know what's impossible?" her friend asked, all playfulness gone. "Alex told me he's been seeing you connected on Skype at these hours for months. That's how I knew you'd be at work and not at home. You can't work all the time and have no life, Liz. This isn't good for you. Even world- renowned scientists who will find the cure for cancer need to socialize, and do something other than just look at microscopes. This guy, you probably barely look at him before ducking down to your experiments and notes."

Liz paused, just before she turned the lights off. Maria stood in the doorframe, and Liz imagined Max there, looking at her with those piercing eyes of his, asking for help.

"I'm working on something important," she said quietly.

"You always are," Maria said with a smile and a sigh, walking down the hall as Liz finally turned the lights off. "All I'm saying is look beyond the microscope once in a while."

_Trust me, Maria. It's not me who doesn't want to know what's beyond the darn microscope. Not by any chance._


	13. Touch

_April 29th, 2011 – Day 1661 and counting_

There's something strange about coming back to Parker's lab. The last time I was here, she saw me using my powers and I didn't exactly leave with a smile on my face. Her _be careful_ still echoes in my ears, though.

Along my unease that now more than ever she'll see me as a rat lab and nothing else.

For the last five months, Frank has believed I've developed an unhealthy love for Starbucks, since every single day that I'm off duty I make a point of buying the largest cup of coffee and show it around. As alibis go, this is the most ridiculously thin one I've ever worked with, but God, it's working.

Parker's lab is thirty miles away from headquarters, and her Starbucks is the closest one to us. Once I knew I wanted her as Plan B, I started working around a reason to be here. A reason to stop by.

This way, the GPS on my Jeep shows that I'm really close to home, innocently enjoying a cup of coffee and maybe some cake. Nothing hiding here, guys. I'm being a nice, well-behaved boy.

I've been here five nights in a row this week, just keeping my Starbucks routine, not even glancing at the white, squared building where Parker has been working late nights. From here, I can see her office on the third floor, the lights on, even if I'm really trying to not look at them.

She's waiting for me.

And I think I'm ready to face her.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen  
Touch**

* * *

It had been ingrained in his brain to be silent. Every step, every breath, every movement of his body was trained to be quiet and efficient. Walking the three floors and approaching her lab station was done in the same manner as he would approach a target, though tonight of all nights, he was acutely aware of how strongly his heart beat, of how slowly time seemed to be moving.

She was there, bent over the microscope, slightly frowning while she absently moved her hair behind her ear. She always did that.

"You know, I think I have good news this time," she said without looking up. He froze.

"No, not _that_ kind of news. God, Maria, you barely left last week!"

He let out his breath with relief. Out there, during a mission, detection would mean death or torture. He'd never been caught, and although Parker was not going to shoot him on sight, the idea that he'd been careless enough for a civilian to hear him coming would have been disturbing.

_You're driving me nuts!_

She looked up right then, smiling at whatever "Maria" told her. He braced for the fear to show up. He braced for something drastic, a change in their dynamics. He braced for something awful.

Her smile lost some of it carefree quality, but it didn't leave her lips either. "You know, something has just come up. I'll call you later, okay?"

She unplugged the earbuds faster than her friend could have said good-bye.

"I have great news!" she said, signaling with a hand for him to come in while she went to her own office.

His heart nearly stopped at that. He didn't dare to hope she'd found it. All thoughts about what she had seen of his powers, about the fear she should be feeling, about _everything_ became a moot point. The whole world seemed to stop at the prospect of Parker finally finding his cure.

"The new equipment arrived this morning _and_ I got access to some pretty amazing libraries on novel drugs!" she exclaimed, coming out of the office with a manual on some lab machine. "I think I found the general drug group. It should all be downhill from here."

Air rushed out of his lungs as his mind processed this new information. A _breakthrough. _Not the answer. Not the drug, and much less the antidote to the poison that ran in his veins, but clearly an important step.

"It suddenly occurred to me," she continued, all excited now, "every time you give me blood samples, you just stab the needle into your arm, with no fear of infection. You don't get sick, do you? I'm willing to bet you heal fast as well."

He opened his mouth to say something, but to either confirm or deny, he wasn't sure.

"You do," she stated, following his lack of response, "and that's the problem. Usually, this group of drugs has nasty side effects, like nausea and vomiting. But since your body is healing, it must kill all the side effects before they have a chance to manifest. And _voila!_ I'm finally making some progress!"

"You are?" he finally managed to say, his legs feeling rubbery all of a sudden.

"I might have an answer in a couple of weeks," she said confidently.

"A couple of weeks," he whispered, his mind racing through the implications. He needed to move things, to plan escape routes. Plant false leads. Freedom was so close it was a dizzying thought. He didn't know if he should laugh, or flee to set things in motion.

He sat down on the closest stool, feeling heavier.

"Well, with trial time, and some other aspects, it might be a few months until the final result. I mean, I know what I'm doing, but having that answer would clear the way to get you off it. Max?"

He heard her words, but he wasn't really listening to her. In his mind, he saw Frank for the last time. His room. The planes and the missions and life as he knew it. All of it was being left behind.

He was scared. He was excited. He couldn't decide which.

"Max?"

He had no idea what he would do. What he _wanted_ to do once he was out. What was he good at? Where would he hide for the rest of his life?

"Here, I think you need a bit of sugar," Parker said, suddenly in front of him with a glass of something. Cherry Coke. It tasted like heaven.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

They were quiet for a minute.

"Max," Parker started, "I will discover that drug, but it might take longer than I want."

"I know," he murmured, feeling more like himself with every sip.

"Are you all right?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah. It's just overwhelming," he paused, not looking at her but at some remote future that was full of uncertainty. "I guess I didn't really believe it could happen. I've suddenly realized that—that I have no idea what I'm going to do after I leave."

She picked up her stool and carried it to where he was finishing his soda. She sat down next to him and said nothing, but all the same, Max could feel her eyes on him.

"What?" he asked, feeling self-conscious.

"What else can you do?" she asked simply, shrugging a little. A spark in her eyes reminded him of Frank, the same way he used to look at Max when he was a kid, exploring the possibilities of his mind. Max was used to being the experimental subject, and he guessed it was only natural Parker would be eager to know. He was unique, after all.

"A lot of things," he said, quietly. Reality had a nasty way of invading his life, usually in the form of someone with a lab coat. "But you're right, about the healing and not getting sick."

"And changing colors," she said, with an encouraging smile. "I spent, like, a hundred hours obsessing on that," she confessed, blushing slightly. "And the flickering lights? Tell me that was you?!"

Her eagerness confused him. Shouldn't she be cautious and fearful about what he was? About what he could do? For the first time since he had come into this lab, he actually wanted to talk to her, to show off his abilities, and as soon as he realized that, the more mixed up his feelings became.

"That was… unintentional."

Her smile faltered at that. "Max? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I sometimes have these surges of—"

"Not with the lights," she said in all seriousness. "Those weeks. Before the last time you came, I mean. You were really, _really_ stressed out and looking pretty bad. I know they were using you. Can you tell me what happened?"

_No._

"Max?"

"Summers believes I'm not being pushed hard enough," he said instead. He wanted to shut his mouth, he just couldn't. These emotions—these goddamn contradictory emotions tore him apart in that moment. She shouldn't be friendly, but she was, and for once in his life he wanted a friend. He wanted to tell someone that deep down he wasn't happy with Frank, or the tests, or his missions. For once he wanted to voice something that made him feel guilty, even if he couldn't explain why.

"Frank doesn't really understand how I do what I do, so even when Summers is not around, they keep doing tests, theorizing and telling each other good job. Except when I'm in the field, of course. Then it's all about the mission and getting results. It's what I do, it's what I'm really good at," he said, unable to find words to what he felt. Unwilling to look deeper into these thoughts. "But I'm _fine_ with it," he added, convincing himself that no matter what, he could deal with it all. "I'm different. They made me."

"Hey," she said, leaning closer to him. "They don't own you."

"You don't run from people who don't own you, doctor." He looked at her, really looked at her, willing her to understand what she should have known all along: he was a prisoner, yes, but he was also a project, a _subject_ that no one wanted to let go.

"What did they do to you that you can't see you're _not_ fine?" she asked in a whisper, reaching for his hand.

He barely registered the touch of her hand on his. Instead, he found himself watching a much younger version of Parker, one who was working as a waitress, her eyes locked on two men who were arguing with a gun. The sound of the shot was deafening, and the pain in his abdomen immediate.

He moved backwards, breaking clear from her touch and whatever that vision had been. He half-fell from the stool, his head spinning as he tried to get his bearings again. Cold sweat broke out on his skin.

"What's wrong?" Parker asked, all worried eyes, trying to catch him before he fell for sure. He caught his balance at the last second, breathing hard.

"Max? Are you okay?"

_No. Definitely not. _He had no idea what had just happened, but he was not about to say that.

"I— I gotta go."

He left, all the euphoria and uncertainty about his new future evaporating. If Frank discovered he'd stumbled upon a new power, life as Max knew it was over.


	14. Double-Take

_Journal entry 8, May 29th, 2011_

Somehow, I know it's my fault. I don't know what I said or what I did, but the look on Max's face as he stumbled out of the lab a month ago is burned into my mind the same way the shooting at the Crashdown Café is.

I keep telling myself that he'll come tonight. That maybe tomorrow when I arrive early at the office, he'll be waiting in his doorframe, a Starbucks cup in his hands and an apologetic smile on his lips.

I don't think I've ever seen him smile.

I don't think I ever will.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen  
Double-Take**

* * *

Liz's routine was simple: Get to work half an hour early every morning to ensure her research was secure. Do the day's trials as fast as she could. Take a quick lunch while discarding one theory or the other about Max's mystery drug. Work, work, work during the afternoon hours, and stop pretending she cared about any of that that at 5:00pm. The serious work started at that time, and she would usually end up leaving the lab at eight. Or nine.

Or ten.

She'd promised herself 10pm was the limit. If Max couldn't bother to come earlier, she wouldn't lose more sleep over him and the whole situation, either. As days became weeks, and then turned into a full month, she seriously reconsidered the curfew. Would Max come around midnight?

Her grilled cheese sandwich had gone cold as she went over some lab results. She still had six minutes of her lunch hour to dedicate to the puzzle that had taken over her life almost six months ago.

The numbers suddenly made sense.

She blinked, the pencil she was using to make notations paralyzed. It actually, _truly_ made sense.

_Oh. My. God._

She couldn't breathe. Some part of her mind told her she couldn't be sure just yet. That she was just setting herself up for disappointment. Some number, some test result, _something_ must be wrong.

"Oh my God…" she whispered, her eyes going wider. It took her a second to rip out the page full of scribbles from her notepad and start a new one. Her eyes went to her computer screen a minute later, her fingers not clicking fast enough to keep with her racing thoughts.

There were a million ways she could be wrong, but her heart told her she wasn't. The more she tried to rein in her emotions, the more she felt like yelling _Eureka!_ at the top of her lungs. She'd cracked it. She discovered the right group, she was narrowing it to the last compounds. She still had a dozen variables to figure out, but _Yes! I did it! I—_

"Dr. Parker?" someone knocked on her open door, and Liz whirled around with an impossibly huge grin, feeling ecstatic.

She froze again.

The man in front of her was Max, but not really. Liz stared at him, her eyes finding the differences at the same rate her smile faded. He looked… _older._ His eyes didn't hold the same "back-off" vibe that her Max's did. This Max was friendlier, his body language open, his taste in clothing different, colorful. The bright blue shirt and his khaki trousers gave him an easygoing air that Max sorely lacked.

"Is there a problem?" her boss asked, appearing from behind. OldMax frowned at her, and then turned to look at William.

"I might have startled your department head," he said with a smile, turning to look at her.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Sorry for the abrupt interruption," William said, smiling as well. "Let me introduce you to our new partner, John Herschel."

_Like the astronaut?_ Liz numbly thought. John extended his hand with a friendly smile –the smile Max had never given her— and she automatically extended hers. His handshake was firm, his hand warm. It lasted a little bit longer than a usual handshake would, and his eyes seemed to glaze over for a couple of seconds. Maybe he'd remembered something?

Her boss was talking, giving compliments to her work and the advances she'd made in the past few months. Advances made partly thanks to Max's blood results and a few creative ideas she'd used to discover the drug that kept him on a leash.

She kept looking at John, expecting some sign that he _was_ Max in some sort of disguise. _What if he ages super fast when he reaches a threshold? Is that what he meant when he said he had two ages? Is Max dying?_

"I'd love to invite our star researcher to lunch?" John hinted, thoroughly ignoring the leftovers of her take-out lunch. She'd barely eaten, and her double-crossing stomach grumbled right that second.

"Of course, of course! Let me arrange something and we can be on our way."

William left, which was exactly what John wanted. His sweet, friendly demeanor evaporated as he casually closed the door.

"You've seen him." It wasn't a question.

"I—I don't know wh—"

"Listen, and listen carefully. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for twenty years. You think I would risk coming this close to the base if I wasn't reasonably sure he's around here?"

Silence. The intensity of his words, the way he placed his hands on her desk, anxiously trying to make her understand—that was pure Max. She swallowed, her eyes filling with tears of fear.

"He's in more danger than you can possibly imagine. In a few months, they'll take him out. They won't risk him escaping the same way I did. I thought I was already too late."

She blinked. Was this a trap? How could there possibly be _two _Maxes?

She shook her head, one last attempt to deny him answers. He leaned closer to her, the menacing vibes becoming desperate.

"Don't let him die," he whispered, the intensity of his eyes paralyzing her.

She didn't know what to do. Heck, she didn't even understand what was happening right this moment, the four walls of her office contracting into a claustrophobic space. She couldn't breathe, and the thought that Max was in a dark room somewhere, equally unable to breathe and slowly dying, drove her to act.

"They're drugging him," she whispered. A tear escaped her eye, and she wiped it out a second later. "There's no way he can escape with that running through his system."

A shadow passed over his face. His arms relaxes on her desk and he stood up straight again.

"That's what they told me. And here I am. _Free_."

"How—when—does Max know about you?"

The door opened, William cheerfully talking on his phone. "Hang on a sec. Okay guys, we're good to go."

"I can't wait to get to know you," John said with a smile that sent chills down her spine.

Half an hour later, all three of them were seated and chatting, a casual lunch among colleagues. _Boy, can looks deceive…_

"I can't claim it's all me, though," John said as the waitress left with their orders. "The mastermind behind everything is my wife. There I was, lost in life, wandering aimlessly… desperate for answers. And I found her, tucked between a microscope and a DNA sequencer. She had all the answers and then some."

William could have been wallpaper for all John cared, and Liz was starting to forget her boss was around as well. He made it sound poetic and metaphorical, but Liz knew better. He was describing the relationship between her and Max, although the golden band on his left hand gave her pause. _Could this story be true?_

"You hear that, Doctor? It can still happen to you!" William said laughing out loud. _Spending time with my boss is a nightmare,_ she thought, sipping her orange juice, suppressing her evil eye. Her boss's cellphone rang again as it had been doing all lunch long. "Excuse me," he said after checking the number, this time walking away for some privacy.

"What are you doing?" Liz asked in a whispered tone.

"I'm trying to save my brother. Or the closest thing we have to brothers. He was barely out of his pod when I escaped. I didn't know he'd been taken out until the day I left…"

"What? _What?_"

John stopped, frowning. "How much has he told you?"

"Nothing!" she said, desperate for answers. John arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "He said he was the only one. I don't think he knows much about anything."

"He _is_ the last one… I guess it stands to reason they wouldn't tell him about me."

"How many of you are out there?" John went as far as opening his mouth before her boss returned.

"And I'm back! What did I miss?"

"Oh, nothing, really. I was telling Doctor Parker about my little brother. We're like twins, really, if you don't count the age difference."

"How old is he?" William asked, glimpsing at his phone.

"Sometimes, it feels like he's twenty years younger." They both laughed. Liz busied herself with the dessert menu. "Anyway, Doctor, I know my wife has some research you might find useful. I'll tell her to send it your way."

Liz looked at him, her eyes going round.

"Is there—I mean… Is there any chance it can come with a clean sample?"

"Anything we can stamp a patent on?" William asked, smiling. Her boss was a capable administrator, but he was clueless when it came to scientific terminology. In fact, she was pretty sure she could start asking John everything she needed to know about biochemistry and William wouldn't bat an eye. Besides, he was annoyingly alert about his phone. Max's _brother_ didn't seem to care.

"You could patent it, but then I'll have to kill you."

Liz went cold. William just laughed harder. John smiled broadly, the waitress coming back with their order.

"I'm pretty sure we can arrange a sample," John said, answering her original question. "I seem to carry a healthy supply around, anyway." Her boss laughed less loudly, obviously not following. But Liz and John understood perfectly: she needed his blood. If he was Max's brother—Max's _twin,_ if that could be possible—it would be like winning the lottery.

William started talking about the business part of the lab, and John humored him. He was, after all, investing a lot of capital. She tried to follow the conversation, but all she could do was picture Max: smiling, carefree, wearing something that wasn't black or leather. Seeing him in broad daylight for once. She wanted that. God, she wanted that _so much._

John caught her staring at him, and smiled. "How about a toast?"

"To partners!" William said immediately, raising his glass before Liz or John could do the same.

"To friendships!" John said with the same enthusiasm, turning to look at her.

"To answers," she said with a tiny smile.

"To answers, indeed," he agreed.

She nodded, wondering if she was smiling because she believed him, or because he reminded her of Max.

* * *

**AN:** Okay guys, I'm gonna go dark for a while. If you'd like to get a preview from next chapter, leave me a signed review and I'll gladly send it your way :)


	15. The Best Lies

_June 2nd, 2011 – Day 1705 and counting_

The last time I discovered a new power, I was so delighted I couldn't see the hungry eyes of those around me. Even Frank was so enthusiastic devising the tests that it all felt like a party. Of course, once Summers found out—once the tests started to get really intense, my cheerfulness evaporated.

Back then it was only tests. If they know what I'm doing now, I won't be able to see daylight for _months_. Parker was right, this people don't own me, but that won't stop them from tearing me apart.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen  
The Best Lies  
**

* * *

Max had never been prone to hugs, handshakes, or touching as a general rule, which made avoiding them easier.

It had started with Parker a month ago. What he'd seen when he'd touched her — the dinner, the aliens painted on the wall, the shooting — it could all be traced back to an incident back in 1999 in Roswell, New Mexico, Parker's hometown. She'd been shot and spent a few weeks at the hospital. He touched his abdomen, remembering all too well the pain of the bullet piercing his skin.

The whole article was meaningless after that. The flash had been real, he didn't need Parker to corroborate it. The problem was his newfound power hadn't stopped.

After Parker, every other person he touched sent him an image, a scene, usually of a very stressful moment in their lives. Two weeks ago, it started happening with objects.

Today, he wore gloves.

"You seem… different," Frank remarked as he prepared the syringe with the amber drug, his weekly fix.

"I guess I still haven't shaken off Summers's last visit," Max lied, taking the question in a stride. In truth, he was weary. Avoiding touching people was relatively easy. Avoiding touching objects was impossible. Even opening a door could lead to a dizzying trip into the past, and coming out of those visions always left him with a sense that he wasn't all out just yet.

"Maybe I should—I was thinking that maybe you can give me the videos from a few years back. If I can see what I struggled with before, I might be able to find another way. Think of something new, maybe?"

"Hm…" Frank said, looking at him. "You're tense."

_Understatement. _

"It's the thing with the changing molecular structures without touching them. I _know_ we've tried a lot of things and there's nothing else that we can do. That power is just not there. I just wish there was a way to shut Summers up, you know? Prove to him that I'm not hiding anything. That I've reached my limit."

The best lies, he'd been taught, were the ones that were based on truth. It seemed the principle also applied to alibis and escape plans. _Prove to them that I'm not only eager to cooperate but that there's nothing left in me for them to poke around—and then prove them wrong._

"What is making you think this?"

Frank placed the syringe down and looked at Max in a clinical way. Max lowered his eyes.

"What if next time, he follows through with his threats and takes you away? I'm not stupid, Frank. I know I owe you a lot of the freedoms I have, and that Summers won't hesitate to take them away. Is this whole thing for nothing?" he asked, signaling the syringe and hunching his shoulders.

"I won't deny you have valid concerns, but what brought this up? Summers comes around often enough that you should be used to it. To his way of doing things."

The thing about the drug was that no one was sure of its long term side effects. And paranoia was high on that list. Max had read about it eons ago, and Frank's questioning brought it all back to his mind.

"A cup of coffee," Max answered, calming himself down. Maybe there was far more truth than lies in his alibi. "It occurred to me a few weeks ago how fragile my Starbucks routine is. If Summers takes you away, he'll take that cup and everything it represents in a heartbeat, too."

Frank put his hand on his shoulder. "It won't happen. Stop worrying about these things, okay? You've been having a lot of work, and it's not going to get any lighter. We have briefing tomorrow morning for your next assignment."

It took all of Max's will not to flinch at the contact. And all his training to remain impassive when he got the flash.

_Review the notes again!_ Frank argued with Summers in this same office, both looking younger. _I don't care what you accomplished with yours! I won't push Max in that direction!_

It was over before Frank stopped talking.

_Yours?_

"So, ready for your shot?"

Max nodded, blinking to get his bearings.

"You do know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Frank asked while holding Max's arm. "I might not have all the answers, or solve all the problems, but I'm a good listener."

_Oh, now that you mention it, any good ideas on what can I do with my life once I escape from this prison?_

"Sure, Frank. Thanks."

It was a bittersweet moment to say thanks while the drug was injected on his blood stream. At least he was getting better at lying.

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask. Why the gloves?"

* * *

Thanks for the reviews! Just make sure you're PM's are on so I can send you the preview for next chapter! *cough* serenity *cough*


	16. Mirage

_June 3rd, 2011 – Day 1706 and counting_

It's not easy to admit that I'm scared. Having no one to help me understand, to help me _control_ these visions —_flashes _for lack of a better word— it's harder than I thought. What if they never stop? What if they only get worse?

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen  
Mirage  
**

* * *

"Are we _boring_ you?" Major McMillan asked him with a steely look in his eyes. Max wasn't easily startled, and he hid it well as he focused on the blueprints.

"I think we have a better option—we go this route," he explained, pointing at the opposite side of what they've been talking for the past half an hour.

Briefing was no laughing matter. His life depended on this, and there was no way he could afford to be distracted. The problem was the chair he sat in was giving him random flashes every few minutes. All kinds of people, all kinds of thoughts and discussions. That he could keep his own reality straight was a miracle of epic proportions.

"We _can't_ use that route, because the security system cannot be disabled remotely."

"I'll disable it," he answered, his eyes following the route. He'd noticed it at the beginning of the meeting, before the flashes had started. Once his mind was split in ten different directions, he hadn't dared to bring it up.

The commanding officer smirked. "Sure you'll disable it. Now, this route will—"

"If he says he'll do it, it means he'll do it," Frank said from his corner, all serious business. It was rare to see him interjecting in a briefing, but it also saved Max from awkward explanations. Since hardly anyone had clearance to know what he could do, it left him in a position where they had to trust him because he said so. In his experience, _no one_ believed him because he said so. At least not this early on in the planning. Frank endorsing his route meant they at least had to listen to him.

"Once I disable the security system, your men can take positions here and here. I'll go this route, get behind the target's study. How much time can you buy me?"

The leader watched him with skepticism, and then turned to look at Frank with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you kidding me? We've been gathering intel and planning this mission for over a year. There's no way you can go that way. What are you going to do?"

"I'll wave my hand and will it open," Max deadpanned. Frank did not look amused.

"If you don't want his services, gentlemen," Frank said with all the calm in the world, "by all means, we can end this meeting now."

After four years of undercover missions and countless targets, he should be used to this kind of session. In the end, despite their misgivings and their frustration at not having the clearance to know _what_ Max could do, they always caved. No one could argue with four years of missions achieved and targets eliminated. His reputation preceded him.

"_If_ you can disable that security system, where would you need us?" the commander relented, quite unhappy. He moved beside Max, touching his shoulder as he examined the blueprints from Max's point of view.

_I'm not letting you die! McMillan shouted to one of his men. Walls disappeared, desert took its place. Death was everywhere, in every corner, in every shadow. Shots and shouts and so much pain. He was never going to get out of here alive. _

"I—I'd suggest here," Max pointed out, blinking rapidly.

"How about here?" the older man asked, raising an eyebrow.

_Keep it together, Max, or you're going to get yourself killed._

All he had to do was get a hold of this new power. Like every one of his powers, it was only a matter of practice. Only a matter of time.


	17. Special Delivery

_Journal entry 9, June 4th, 2011_

I _knew_ I should have skipped town the minute Max left my lab back in January. The fact that today marks our 6 month "anniversary" is not only ironic, but a sobering thought. I can't claim I didn't know accepting Max's proposition was dangerous. Working with his twin older brother, though…

There's no turning back, is there?

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen  
Special Delivery  
**

* * *

Five days ago, Liz's research had been interrupted when John Herschel had walked into her office, turning her perception upside down. This time, when the interruption came, it was less dramatic, but much more important.

"Sign here, please?" the guy said, pointing out a line at the end of the UPS form. Special Delivery was written in bold red letters that for one moment morphed in her imagination to FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.

Maybe CLASSIFIED? What was the correct level for this kind of thing?

All she had for sender was a P.O. Box somewhere in Florida, but it might as well have a neon sign proclaiming "JOHN HERSCHEL". What was special about this delivery was that it contained a refrigeration unit and a separate box. _The research,_ she thought, eagerly signing two more places, her eyes glancing at her newfound treasures.

The delivery man said thanks and left. Outside, a couple of technicians looked her way, and then got back to their own research. Lately, she'd been getting so many deliveries, to the point it was no longer a novelty.

Closing the door behind her and locking it, Liz didn't waste a minute to open the refrigeration unit. A note was the first thing she saw:

_I hope it's clean enough. _

The calligraphy was decidedly male. Taking it out, she hoped for a vial of blood. She got six, along with other fluid samples. The three last times Max had been here, he'd been too stressed out with whatever testing they were doing to him to leave anything behind but blood.

She inspected them to make sure nothing was broken, and placed them in her fridge. She went for the other box. This one didn't have a note inside, but as soon as she started to go through the pages, she knew the handwriting on this one was female. _Someone did help you, huh? _ she absently thought, pouring the two hundred pages or so of data onto her desktop.

It wasn't organized in any way, shape, or form. In fact, it looked as if someone had hastily thrown them in the box. Granted, not every scientist out there shared her passion for color-keying everything for her convenience, but a little hint of what she was looking at would have been greatly appreciated.

She looked at her watch. Lunch hour was over. Reports needed to be finished, e-mails to be sent. She bit her lip, and with an exasperated sigh put everything back. She would work on it in three hours. All she needed was patience.


	18. Doorframe

_Journal entry 10, June 5th, 2011_

I have no idea who is the woman who wrote all these notes, but I feel a strange kind of sisterhood with her. Did John appear one night out of nowhere and present her with an impossible enigma? Was he as imposing and brooding as Max is? I hope he was, because he seems to be a great guy and doing fine. Gives me hope for Max's future, once he's away from that place.

Whoever she is, I gotta hand it to her: she did all of this twenty years ago, and John is still around. Unfortunately, _Max_ is not around, hasn't been for five weeks now. Wouldn't it be ironic if, just when he's so close to getting his answers, he's taken away?

Of course, I can't think like that. Max is too smart to let himself be caught. I still won't feel right until he crosses that doorframe, all brooding and mysterious, demanding my report.

God, Max! Where are you?

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen  
Doorframe  
**

* * *

Few things were more calming to Liz Parker than solving puzzles. Or organizing. Sprawled in front of her, she had six different piles of pages, multi-colored post-its sticking out everywhere —including her hair— two sharpies, three different colored highlighters, and all the patience in the world.

The humming of her laptop was the only sound around while she read all the data, formulas, and biochemistry stats. All these pages were barely the tip of the iceberg, and although they didn't tell her all the story, they did tell her how it ended: John was free.

She looked up at the door as she'd done every once in a while in the last five hours. Her watch said it was close to midnight, perfect for Max to make a shadowy entrance. When she spotted him there, watching her from his favorite place, she had to blink a couple of times to make sure it wasn't her imagination.

"You're back!" she said with delight, standing up.

"I wish I was always greeted with such enthusiasm," he said, coming into the light. "Although I gotta be honest here: It's been a while since someone wanted a piece of me under the microscope, Liz."

Her spirits plummeted faster than lead.

"You're not—you're not Max," she whispered, all her energy gone. John picked up on it instantly.

"I'm sorry. I take it he hasn't come in a few days?"

"Five weeks," she whispered, sitting down once more, visibly deflated. "I've been working since yesterday on the files you sent me. I'm halfway through organizing them."

"Then you know the drug won't kill him. Going through the withdrawal was no sunshine, but—"

"They changed it," she stated, picking a sheet of paper with the drug composition.

"What?"

"I haven't left the lab since your packages arrived yesterday. I did a comparison between your samples and Max's. It's not the same thing they used on you. It's close, but not the same."

God, she was tired. Her eyes felt gritty and her brain cells were this close to going on a strike. That she didn't have good news just plain sucked.

"You look tired, doctor. Here, let me help you," he said in a quiet way, getting closer to her. "It's a little trick I discovered when my wife was working on the puzzle."

He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she instantly felt warmth. "It'll take a minute. How long have you known Max?" he asked, while the warmth spread through her shoulder blades. It felt wonderful.

"Since January," she answered, turning to look at his hand. "He asked me to look at his blood and, if I was interested after that, to help him find the drug."

"And you did."

"Any scientist in his or her right mind would. I bet your wife was thrilled."

"She kicked me out of her lab, actually. But in her defense, I was stealing from her."

The warmth spread all over her back, dissipating all cramps and tense muscles. "What are you doing?" she asked with curiosity, feeling her drowsiness recede.

"A little bit of magic," he said with a small smile. "It might feel wonderful now, but is no replacement for a good night's sleep, doctor. Is there any way you can contact Max?"

She shook her head. "I'm worried. He's never been gone this long. And he knew I was close to finding his answer on our last visit. Something scared him, though. I—he—this thing with his powers happened and I got scared, but then he freaked out for no apparent reason and—Look, I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say here. John, do you think he's still alive?"

She hated to say it out loud. Voicing her fear made it feel real; a fear that had been running in the back of her mind for thirty six hours now. Maybe for five weeks straight.

"I refuse to believe Fate would be so cruel as to let me get this close, just to lose him," he said, taking his hand away.

"He really is your brother," she said, looking at John closely. "I mean, it doesn't make sense, not with the age difference. Yet you two have identical DNA. Is he like—like your clone?"

John smiled sadly at that. "I believe we both are."

Liz's eyes opened wide. "Who is the original?" she asked. John shrugged in answer.

"Max said he was a hybrid," Liz said, finally talking about the wild theories that her mind had been entertaining for so many months. "And… well… I—I know it _sounds_ crazy, but there's something…" she paused, staring at him, "something not human in there…" she whispered.

"I think my wife phrased it something like, 'You're not from around here, are you?' So, do you believe in aliens, doctor?"

She shook her head slightly, not even blinking. "Out there in the universe? Definitely. In here, standing right in front of _me_?" the last word came out scratchy.

"Would it be better if we are only _half_ alien? Technically, we're not even half. We're almost entirely human. It's very little that differentiates us from you. I can bring you my x-rays next time," he teased her, but Liz took a step back. It all made sense, and then it didn't. This created far more questions than any answers. It solved the puzzle of his cells, and to an extent, of the origin of his powers. It also explained why someone would want him on a leash.

It didn't explain what they were doing to him right now, though her imagination was ready to supply those answers.

It didn't tell her where he was now. Or when was he coming back.

"I think," John said, taking his own step back, "that this is enough information for today. Go to bed, doctor. You are no good to Max if you can't see straight." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" She wanted to know every detail. She wanted to sit him down and ask him a million questions. She wanted to be brave and she wanted him to know it.

"You never answered my question: Do you think he's alive?"

"Yes."

And with that, he was gone.


	19. Resolution

_June 23rd, 2011 – Day 1726 and counting_

Getting the hang of a new power is like learning a new combat skill. It hurts like hell, you make stupid mistakes, and it feels like you're never going to make any progress. Until one day, your body moves fluidly, your muscles aren't sore anymore, and you _know_ what you are supposed to do.

And boy, am I getting good at this.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen  
Resolution**

* * *

"You should've seen his face when I got back!" Max said laughing as he opened his bottle of water. "He was _so_ hoping I would fail at the security system. Rather anti-patriotic if you ask me," Max added before taking a swig.

"You gotta admit, those guys analyze these things for months. It's not their fault they can't 'wave their hand and will it to open'," Frank quoted him with a stern look.

"I said I was sorry," Max said with a tinge of annoyance. "It's not like they believe me… I wasn't even caught on video."

Frank never joked about his powers when it came to other people working with him. The logic was quiet straightforward: if they discovered Max's "superpowers" in the middle of an incursion, they would either be scared out of their minds or have false expectations about what he could do. _Both _scenarios led to the mission failing miserable with a few casualties, including himself.

"Thank God for small favors," Frank murmured, sipping his coffee. The smell was wonderful. It reminded Max of Starbucks… _and _Parker. The last time he'd seen her had been almost two months ago. He couldn't risk going to her without controlling this new power, and especially without being able to explain why he had run out of her lab. She was bound to ask questions, a _million_ ones.

"Speaking of something else," Frank said, "do you still want the videos when you were first training?"

Frank thought Max wanted to see how he'd first learned to use his powers. In reality, Max had promised Parker he would get her his withdrawal videos, but those were from four years ago, meaning they were not in Frank's computer right now. Hacking into the main server was out of the question, so the possibility of getting old videos was also the possibility of getting a window to the files he truly wanted.

"Sure. Maybe something from… ten? Twelve years ago?" he said, shrugging. At sixteen, his telekinesis had been barely under control. His grasp on molecular manipulation had been his major concern back then. Maybe he could get the exact formula to Parker. He wasn't looking forward to give her his withdrawals videos, but whatever helped her get closer to the truth was game. He only had to get access and a reason to be connected to the database.

"Okay, I'll get them this week. Maybe I'll see something I missed, too. It's not like there's a manual on how to train your very gifted kid."

_I don't care what you accomplished with yours, I won't push Max in that direction!_

The flash echoed in Max's mind. In the three weeks since that had happened, he'd seldom thought about it —too many other flashes to think about— but it was hard to forget that elusive _yours_ when Frank talked about how special he was.

The phone rang. Two minutes later, Frank hung up and excused himself. Someone needed him somewhere else, leaving Max in his office without a second glance. It was as if the Universe were presenting him with the opportunity to find his files on a silver platter.

"Don't rush into things…" he muttered to himself, taking another swig at the bottle, his eyes glued to the back of the monitor. Slowly, almost magnetically, he turned his attention towards Frank's abandoned cup of coffee. If he touched it, the possibility of getting his answers could literally be at his fingertips.

So far, he'd been good at minimizing the amount of flashes he got daily, from twelve or fifteen, to about three or four. The next logical step was to will them to happen. Since he'd been avoiding them as much as he could, the idea of reversing his approach to getting flashes—to take the offensive instead of the defensive—was not exactly a happy thought.

Since he could remember, Max had been pushed out of his comfort zone. It didn't mean he was eager to try this, far from it. Doubt consumed him: Did he try to use this power or not?

Did he want to touch that mug?

What if he didn't like what he saw?

What if he couldn't keep his mouth shut about what he saw?

What if knowing these things about Frank would change their dynamic?

Ignorance was bliss for a good reason. Plus, did he really need to know? All he really needed was the computer, the files, and get them to Parker.

Frank entered the office a moment later, finding Max exactly where he'd been less than ten minutes before. "Oh! You still need anything? I didn't know you were waiting for me," Frank asked, going to his desk and opening a drawer.

"Just taking it easy," Max answered, finishing his water. They had another briefing meeting in two hours, and he still needed to finish a few things on his last mission's report. "I should be going," he said out loud, standing up.

"Hey, can you do me a favor and take these to Bernice on the second floor?" Frank asked, stacking a dozen manila folders on his desk. "You know her?"

"Tall, blond, really thick glasses?" Max asked, extending his hand to receive the package.

"The one and only. Tell her—"

Frank's words died the instant Max got the files, replaced instead by a dozen flashes, too fast for him to comprehend any, too dizzying to keep his balance. He dropped the folders all over the desk, steadying himself on the chair before he could hit the floor.

"Woa there, are you okay?" Frank asked with concern, while Max tried to smile and wave his way out of it.

"Yeah, yeah… I just… lost my balance, that's all…"

Frank didn't buy it. Max looked down at the folders, afraid of picking them up. He stared at them as if they were snakes, but if he was going to get some semblance of nothing-is-wrong-here, he had to keep going.

"So, tell Bernice what?" he asked, picking the files one by one, willing himself to stop any incoming flashes. So far, so good.

Frank placed his hand on Max's shoulder then, and the flash almost knocked Max down.

_"Give him a reason to come back. He can be useful to you in so many other fields," Maggs was arguing with a committee, not making much of a case._

_A General watched her intently, and then shifted his eyes to Frank._

_"Frank, you know the subject better than anyone. Is he ready to be trained?"_

_"He'll object to more sensitive missions," Frank said reluctantly. "He's not a killer."_

_"That's what they all say," Summers said from a dark corner. "He just needs motivation."_

_On his chair, Frank nodded in agreement._

Max moved a step back, wanting—_needing_ this to end. The files threatened to fall again, but he managed to regain his balance.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Frank asked, retreating his hand.

"It's been a crappy day, that's all," Max said automatically, his heart beating in his ears too loud. _Not Frank, _was all he could think about. _God, not Frank!_


	20. Plan C

_June 24th, 2011 – Day 1727 and counting_

I can't win this battle. I can't pretend I don't know the things I've come to know through my flashes. I can't pretend that being inside these walls and getting my weekly fixes isn't killing me.

I don't know if I can withstand going to see Parker. What if I touch her, and get a flash that all this time she's been plotting my demise? What if I've been wrong about her all along?

Yet, as days pass, I realize that I don't have any other choices, do I? She's the only one I have left.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty  
Plan C**

* * *

The last week of June, Max restarted his Starbucks routine. He didn't risk going directly to Parker, not without checking that his alibi was still secure. That meant scouting the area, seeing if he was being followed, and long hours sitting on a table all by himself, pretending to read or research on his laptop while his senses got attuned to this place again.

Relief flooded him the first night he was back. Parker's car was in its old spot despite the late hour. She was still working on this. She was still waiting for him. _Or maybe that's wishful thinking._

He also noticed a new car. Maybe a new technician? Maybe one of her friends? The car wasn't there on Tuesday or Wednesday, but was parked very close to her own Honda on Thursday. It was there on Saturday _and _Sunday as well. She came over the weekends now, but she wasn't coming alone.

Max drummed his fingers on the table, unsettled. She'd never been over the lab on weekends before, and much less accompanied. Part of him was sure she'd discovered something major, and was so close to the truth she worked non-stop. But if that were true, then why was she having someone else with her?

His first instinct told him that she had betrayed him. She had showed her research to some idiot and now they were working on their future Nobel Prize. How long had she waited? Three weeks? Four? Once the month was gone she decided he was probably never going to come back and his blood was free for all!

On his less paranoid moments, he thought she _was _working on something major, but for once it didn't have to do with him. She did have a job as a researcher, and the company did work with all kinds of drugs. Chances were, her boss was making her work longer hours, and someone from her team was helping her out.

When they closed Starbucks on Sunday night and no one had come out of the lab to claim either car, he had the depressing thought that maybe she was dating someone from the lab. It wasn't that he didn't want her to have a love life, but that it was impractical for him. It would mean she wasn't 100% focused on looking for his cure.

Late that night in his room, Max contemplated forgetting all about Plan A and B, and coming up with a third plan. He needed to get the drug out of his system without killing him. And as Sunday became Monday, Plan C eluded him. He'd invested so much time on Plan B for a good reason, after all.

He was never going to leave this life, was he? If his body didn't fight this, if she didn't find the cure… He should have never placed his freedom in the hands of a stranger.

It had been a long time since he'd felt this helpless. _About_ _1727 days and counting, _he thought with a miserable sense of humor. Closing his eyes, he willed his body to relax. He had a couple of hours of sleep before Frank came through that door, ready with his next mission. Feeling sorry for himself was not going to help him.

He fell asleep before he could notice the silent tear that ran down his face.


	21. Privacy

_Journal entry #11, July 3rd, 2011_

We never really think about the price of freedom, do we? The 4th of July comes and goes, fireworks, smiles, barbecues. But none of us know what it really is like to live with invisible chains, seeing the world with our hands bound, having no choice but to obey.

I haven't seen John since he let me know that my suspicions have been right all along. Half-alien. Yeah, I can believe that. No human has the soulful look that Max's eyes have. John tries to hide it, but every time he brings his wife into the equation, I can see it in there as well. I guess he has lived long enough outside to learn to hide it, least someone figures out his non-human status.

I have heard about him, though. Now that he's becoming a major investor, William has been driving me crazy with reports, updates, and paperwork. He's driving me insane! I spend every minute that I can working on that drug composition, on how to neutralize it, but with my boss breathing down my neck every other night… Even if Max were on his doorframe right now, I would have to send him home.

The funny thing is I almost feel as if Max were right around the corner all the time.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One  
Privacy**

* * *

The Fourth of July week brought with it a much needed respite in Liz Parker's life. For once, she didn't have to stare at a computer while her well-meaning-if-annoying boss looked over her shoulder, hopelessly trying to understand a word she said.

It also brought an unexpected visitor to her own doorframe.

"Oh my God! Alex?! What are you doing here?!" Still scrawny, still grinning as if he were fifteen and not twenty-eight, Alex Whitman stood on her doorway with Thai take out in one hand, and a carry-on in the other.

"Well, I was in the neighborhood," he said with his characteristically wide smile, while she hugged him.

"Come on in! Are you like, coming from the airport?"

"Well, I actually made a detour for food, first. That thing airplane's serve now? It doesn't really count as edible," he said, raising the Thai food bag. It brought back a memory of Max coming to her lab with food, the same Thai logo, the same spicy smell. It had been the one and only time she'd ever eaten with him.

"Maria told me you didn't have plans for the holiday, and I tried to call but my phone had this suicide thought and it crashed while I was trying to avoid this lady who had this huge—"

Alex kept talking about his trip while they settled the food, the dishes and the beverages. Having Alex around brought with him an incredible energy, a need to smile and be spontaneous and just be happy. Why had Alex never seriously dated was probably a loss for all women in the world.

_Married to his job… doesn't _that _sound familiar, Doctor? _She told herself. Strangely, the jab came in Max's voice.

"Plus! We're celebrating!"

"What?"

"Well, it's not a done contract right now, but—I got it. I mean, my company got it!"

Liz frowned, completely lost. "Got what?"

"The contract! As of next month, we're going to be consultants for your labs."

"No way!"

"And it all started with your recommendation!"

She had utterly forgotten about that. Hadn't they been talking about this back in January or February? Had she been so consumed with Max that everything else around her life had stopped having any meaning? That nothing else mattered?

_Yes._

_No._

_Maybe?_

Alex went chatting about how it all had unfolded, and how he had this one last interview to sign the contract in three days. Liz smiled, played the best host her parents had taught her to be, and enjoyed Alex's company to the fullest. Maybe she had been distracted, sure, but she was out of the lab right this moment, and she was entitled to her life.

_What about Max's life? Isn't he entitled to spend it with friends as well? Does he have any? Is he _allowed_ any?_

She squashed that little voice as best as she could. Alex deserved much better than this. And she _had_ been busting her neurons for months in order to find that drug. She just wasn't a miracle worker.

Her fingers fidgeted below the table as she fought the sudden urge to leave her apartment and go to the lab. One more trial. One more test. She was so close now—

"Oh! I forgot! A package was outside," Akex said while they cleaned the table.

"A package?" _On a Fourth of July? _

Alex walked to his carry-on, unzipped it, and took a small manila folder out.

_To Dr. Parker._

She recognized the handwriting immediately: John's. She tore it open before Alex could say anything. Two seconds later, a black USB dropped on her palm. A folded note followed. She read it while Alex looked at her, waiting for an explanation.

_He'll need to watch this. _

"Anything wrong?" Alex mentioned as she re-read the note. "You look kind of pale…"

The USB on her hand felt heavier than lead. Her first instinct was to open her laptop, plugged in the device, and see it. Then she re-read it again: He'll need to watch this. He. Max. Not her. Was she going to take that choice from him, too? This wasn't hers. If she watched it before Max, she'd been taking one more thing from: his right to privacy. One he already seriously lacked.

"Liz?"

"Sorry. Just… work stuff." She folded the note with the USB inside, and put it on her pocket. Picking the package, she studiously shredded it while walking to the closest trash tin.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah… yes! What were you saying about staying at a hotel? I have plenty of room here!" she went on and on, changing the subject and never coming back to it. On her left pocket, the USB burned through her soul. For the first time, she had more than just blood from Max. And she was not going to peek.


	22. Blood Ties

_Journal entry #12, July 5th, 2011_

The thing no one ever tells you about having secrets is how much they can tear you apart. How much the excitement gives room to anxiety. How not being able to contact Max is slowly killing me, but not being able to talk about it is pure torture.

I've only lived with this for seven months. How on Earth does Max manage to go through life like this? At least John's married. He shares his secrets with someone. Would Max ever trust me enough to share his? Not as his doctor, but as his friend?

Is he even alive right now?

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
Blood Ties**

* * *

John's physical disappearance reminded Liz that she lived in a dangerous world now. One where secrets were kept to the point people would kill for. One where half-alien hybrids walked around, changing the colors of Starbucks' cups, while being shadowy, gloomy, and broody.

She had more than enough on her plate between analyzing John's old data, organizing the research files for the upcoming merge with John's company, and carrying around John's USB everywhere she went. Officially, John had taken over her life.

Maybe he'd done it on purpose. Since the day she'd learned the alien truth about him—and by extension, about Max—she'd been so swamped in work, numbers, and biochemistry, she hadn't had time to freak out. Contemplate the implications? Sure. Theorize about the possibilities? Definitely. Running around in circles because aliens walked the Earth? Not yet, but she was getting close.

Had his wife freaked out?

She'd researched him a little, but she just plain sucked at internet stalking. She had no more idea now about who John Herschel was than she did two weeks ago. The fact that he never mentioned his wife by name was odd enough. Protecting her? And why were the files all throw in the box like that? Her notes would indicate John's wife was a highly organized person—much like herself, really—so it didn't make much sense.

Unless John had taken the research without her consent or knowledge…

_He's trying to get Max out. What would I do in her place? It takes me ages to get him free just to see him going back there twenty years later? Really? Wouldn't that feel like a slap on my face?_

But then, she didn't really know John, his wife, or their relationship. All she had were a few revelations, two hundred pages of notes, and a story larger than life.

_And a doorframe_, she thought as she glimpsed at the door for the hundredth time. She was so used to see it empty that she didn't notice that someone was actually there. When it registered two seconds later, she looked up startled. Surely, she told herself, it's my imagination.

But the image remained there. A perfect silhouette of a man she had come to know to the last strand of DNA, if nothing else.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to come before or after the contract was signed. William won't shut up about it," she said with a chuckle, writing down some numbers on the chart before she could give her full attention to her guest. "Although I gotta thank you, John, that's one heck of a research."

"Who's John?"

Two little words that shattered everything she'd been dreading for two months now. The tone, dark, masculine, and _slightly _vulnerable could come only from one of her subjects. This time, when she looked up, her heart slammed on her chest.

"Oh my God, you're alive!" she stood so fast that the stool fell noisily behind her. She wanted to run, she wanted to touch him, she wanted to—what? Throw herself at his neck and unwaiting arms? She couldn't picture Max reaching for her and spinning her around. As much as she wanted to help him, as much as seeing him alive lifted a ton of weight off her shoulders, as much as it made her happy… that was just not Max. She stood frozen midway there, while Max stood frozen on his doorframe.

"Who's John?" he repeated, seemingly without moving. She could hear something else there now: betrayal.

_Who's John? Really? _A million answers got stuck in her throat. From the moment she had laid eyes on his "brother", to the moment she'd gotten the notes that had left her one step away from finding the exact drug component, to Alex's charming face smiling because he'd signed the contract. Even her boss's face made an appearance in the kaleidoscope of images that her brain strained to place into a coherent order, talking _ad nauseam_ about this deal and what it meant for the company.

"He—" she started, feeling her smile fade a little. If she said the wrong thing now, Max could very well turn around and never come back. The realization hurt her. "He left something for you," she said, swallowing.

Max came into the lab then, in all his gloomy glory. And he looked terrible.

She bit her tongue before she could ask questions about where he'd been the last two months. _There's going to be time for that_, she told herself. Surely, Max had his reasons to disappear for so long, but the dark vibes coming off him were not inviting her to twenty questions.

"You told him," he stated.

She laughed. More like an outburst, really, while she went for the USB. "_He _told me." Then she sighed. "A lot has happened since you left. And I mean, _a lot._ It's going to take me a while to explain it all, so please, _please,_ don't leave before I'm done."

Max frowned, his movements cautious. His hands were by his side, and she realized he was relaxing them from a previously fisted position. He was angry, but now he was curious as well.

"He did leave this for you, though. I—I haven't opened it. He said you would need to see this?" She'd been meaning to state, but it came out as a question.

"How could he have told you about me? Wait, did they find about you?"

His anger evaporated. It was visibly replaced by worry, and Liz had no idea what to read into that.

"No, no. It's… it's complicated."

"Explain," he said, taking the closest stool and siting on it, perfectly upright. He winced after a moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a flash. Now, explain."

She'd forgotten how infuriately cryptic being around Max could be. _A flash? _

"I guess the best way to tell you this is in chronological order. Two months ago, I was having lunch when…"

She told him everything in as much detail as she could. About how John had found her out of thin air. About the contract with the labs. Even about the lunch where John talked to her boss and her with total different meanings. About the samples that had arrived the next few days. About not having seen him since he told her the truth.

She even told him about her suspicious that his wife didn't know all of this.

And through all of it, Max didn't say a word. He narrowed his eyes, and looked at other parts of the lab, thinking God knew what. He never hunched. He sat as straight at the end of her tale as he had at the beginning.

"The handwriting is his. I— I haven't looked at what's inside, but we can check it on my—"

"No," Max said finally, raising from the stool. "They might be tracking the files. Once you open them, you'll have half the base on you."

Liz froze, the USB in her hand suddenly burning her skin as if it were on fire.

"What?"

"_Yours,_" he said to himself. "I've been piecing together fragmented information these past two months. I didn't know what they meant until now. 'Yours'. He said 'I don't care how you did it with yours'. They were referring to John."

"So, this isn't news for you…" Liz said slowly, feeling suddenly stupid. Of course he would know! He was the guy with the super powers here.

"Oh, it is. In more ways than one… Alien, huh?" he said with a ghost of a smile, hardly finding anything funny at all.

"So you don't want to open it?"

Max shook his head. "I can't risk it. I'd rather not know than to fall into a trap."

Inwardly, Liz winced in dismay. Had Max never trusted anyone?

"I don't know him, Doctor," Max explained, maybe reading Liz's consternation. "Up until two months ago, I had no idea there was another me around. Maybe there are more. What I do know is that I have no way of knowing if there's something harmful in that device."

"He… he looked worried enough about you…" Liz defended John in a small voice, feeling like she should stick to microscopes and stats.

"Think about it, Parker," Max said in a more practical tone. "He invested in _your_ company, and then shows up knowing _you_ have been working for me? He spins a tale about how his wife helped him out, much the same way you have me. A wife he doesn't name and gives hardly any details about. The best way to keep up a lie is giving few details. It's easier to keep it straight in your head in the long run. Now he gives this to you? He wants to track me. The only reason he wants that is if he—"

"CHAMPAGNE!" The loud sound of a cork flying by the hall almost shattered Liz's heart. Max turned around in an instant with his hand extended, ready to unleash another one of his secret skills. The light flickered and a few test tubes cracked around him.

Grinning as if he had won the lottery, Alex happily spilled half the bottle of champagne on the floor while the bubbles still frizzled.

"WE'RE OFFICIALLY PARTNERS!" he yelled as if she weren't ten feet away. "This calls for celebration big time!"

It was until that moment that he noticed that neither she nor Max was moving.

"Um, we _are_ partners, right? The kind who celebrate, I presume?" he looked at them, really looked at them, and swallowed. Bubbles still fell to the floor. "Woa, this is awkward if not…" Alex trailed off, the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

"You think I'm John," Max said a moment later, the tension leaving his shoulders, finally lowering his hand.

Alex froze in place, his blue eyes opening wide. "I—you—what…? Wait, you're not—"

Max shook his head, turning to look at Liz with a serious stare. "I'm his brother."

"You're not kidding," Alex said slowly, blinking a couple of times. "But you look… I mean, John looks..."

"Older. We know. Doctor, I'll come back—"

"Alex! We have a problem," Liz rushed in, passing Max by. "The kind of problem you love," she added with a smile, the USB on her open palm. Alex grinned at that, forgetting the non-celebration.

Behind her, she couldn't see the murderous look Max aimed at her.


	23. Decoding

_Journal entry #13, July 6th, 2011_

Is it really that hard to ask for help? To trust the people your friends trust?

Wait, don't answer that…

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
Decoding**

* * *

It was late by the time Alex left the keyboard. It had been midnight a little while ago, and Liz didn't know what to do to keep herself occupied and Max from bolting.

There was no way Max was going to leave now that Alex was making progress with the USB flashdrive. Liz, on the other hand, tried to keep busy with the charts. Without Alex being in the known, she couldn't talk about the whole thing freely with Max.

"You're just putting yourself and your friend in danger," Max whispered, while he reheated his latest cup of coffee—with his bare hands.

She stared at them. Long fingers that gripped the cup a little too tight. What else could those hands do?

"I happen to know Alex is extremely good at what he does. You think John would have picked him otherwise?"

"I have no idea what _John_ might do regarding anything. He might be outside waiting for me for all I know."

"Would you look at it from my perspective?" He didn't say anything, she took that as a yes. "Let's say you were him. You found me somehow, we spent months, maybe a couple of years developing this thing to get you out. We—we fall in love," she said, not letting the blush stop her, "and then we go happily ever after to some remote island in the middle of the pacific. _Except_… and this is a big except, okay? You know they have another you. A child, a baby, I don't know—"

"A six-year old," Max supplied, his jaw set.

"A—right. A six-year old. And all this time, you've been wondering about him, what is happening to him. Are they treating him like you were treated? So you never forget… and… Somehow he finds you, just don't ask me how, you're probably better at this than I am. And now that he knows about you, he's trying to set you free. And here we are."

"You make it sound so easy," he said, looking at Alex, who couldn't be farther from their conversation at this point. All he had eyes and ears for where the monitor and the keyboard.

"Maybe it's a bit of both, you know?" Liz said, shrugging. "He said he was risking a lot by coming so close to the base. Are you staying close?"

"About 30 miles from here, actually. This is the closest Starbucks to the base. I pretend I come for a cup of coffee every free night I've got."

Liz stopped at that. "Every single night? So… you've been out there some nights without coming up here?"

"Of course, almost every night for the past three weeks, actually." The nonchalance in which he said that boiled Liz's blood up.

"What? _What?! _You think I haven't been agonizing for the past sixty three days if you were alive or dead?!"

That got Alex's attention. They both ignored him.

"I can't come every night here. What if I'm being followed? I take the upmost respect for your safety. If you are gone, or worse, _killed_, where does that leave me?"

The only reason she didn't slap him right there and then was because Alex cleared his throat. But Max read her intent loud and clear, the guilty look in his eyes betraying him a second later.

"It's clean. I threw at it everything I could think of, and nothing but video. Um… this doesn't mean our newly made partnership is doing something illegal right?"

"No," Liz said.

"Not at all," Max said with her. They said it a little bit too fast. Alex nodded, completely unconvinced.

"Why would anyone want to track you with this device?" he asked finally, his fingers still flying on his keyboard.

"That's none of your business," Max answered in a deadly tone.

"What he means is, he's very grateful for you taking the time to check it out for him," Liz said instead, going over to Alex. "So, it's just a video?"

"Several, actually. About tweeeenty—twenty-seven. They all have a different time stamp and are different qualities and stuff like that."

"But it's clean. It means no one can trace us?" Liz pressed for Max's benefit.

"It means there's nothing in these files that is not supposed to be there. You were safe from the beginning. So the last thing to do is see if they all run—"

Before Max or Liz could end this whole thing with "thank you Alex, I'll take it from here", Alex clicked the first video. As far as he was concerned, whatever was there was for all to see.

Liz's heart jumped to her throat. Max was behind Alex so fast it was almost dizzying. "_Don't—!"_

The monitor went black for a moment, and then a movie started. On instinct, Alex froze the frame, afraid that he had done something wrong.

"—play them," Max whispered, his eyes glued to the monitor the same way hers were. Men in containment white hazmat suites stood inside a large warehouse, holding different tools and clipboards. The stamp date on the file read _November, 1976. _The largest object on the frame—the largest object in the entire warehouse by the looks of it—was a huge, dark gray, flying saucer.

"This isn't a movie, is it?" Alex whispered, turning to look at Liz. She shook her head.


	24. Haunted

_July 6th, 2011 – Day 1739 and counting_

The thing about trusting people is that it requires… _trust._ There's no other way to phrase it, really. It means you tell them something that they won't unhear. See things they won't unsee. Bottom line is, once you give them your trust, there's no way to get it back.

For the longest time, I have always been told who to trust. It isn't a matter of choosing for me. Parker taking it away by recruiting Whitman is just one more reminder that trusting is not something that comes easily—or freely—in my life.

The irony being, of course, that the one and only person I have ever trusted without being told to, is Dr. Parker herself.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
Haunted**

* * *

Once Alex Whitman saw what he saw, there was no point in holding it back. Later, Max would think that all he had to do was take the USB and storm out of that place. Leave Parker with the mess to explain what was going on, wait a few weeks to come back, and hope she wouldn't follow through with that attempted slap.

The truth was, seeing that frozen frame with an obvious spaceship triggered all kinds of emotions within himself.

He'd been lied to, but that wasn't new. What was new was the _scale_ at what had been told to him. The first thing he thought was: _So, Parker was right. They couldn't have created me thirty years ago… _

The second thought was that John had also been telling the truth. Aliens. Half-aliens, anyway, but certainly not entirely human. Never that.

And once that realization hit him, a million others threatened to bury him underneath. He had always had a purpose. Before tonight, that had always been clear: he was created by the US Government to see the potential of the human brain. He was a weapon, a strategy. An _advantage. _

Now he was none of those things. At least, his origin point had never intended him to be. He just didn't know his intended orders right now, his intended purpose, and that left him feeling hollow.

"Do you want to… keep watching?" Alex half whispered, his hand hovering over the mouse.

"Max…?" Liz asked, _now_ giving him the choice.

"Is it long?" he heard himself asking. Alex moved the mouse below the video, and the timing stated: 6:23. How much information could six minutes and twenty-three seconds tell him?

_Hell, I'm just looking at a frozen frame and that has already destroyed the bases of my existence. _

He nodded.

Alex hit play, the three of them getting closer to the monitor.

The first minute went by with nothing changing much. People middling around, calling each other for things. In the back, tables with many pieces were neatly arranged.

A very young Summers made an appearance then, making Max's blood run cold. He couldn't be older than 30 years then. Maybe not even 25.

"As you can see, we're very busy today. The ship has been receiving radio transmission that we're unable to decode. Once every four months and six days, to be precise. And, today's the day, as they say. Since our last two attempts to decode this signal, we have learned a whole lot more. We're confident this time, we'll get something right."

The next three minutes went into detail about their data, how they had intercepted the first signals ten years ago. It was all rather technical and… _boring. _Only Alex nodded in understanding.

"This makes sense to you?" Max asked.

"Yeah. Well, some of it is rather old fashioned, but then again, this is forty years old. The principles still apply, but they would use other technology now."

"You think they managed the signal?" Parker asked.

"Only one way to know," Alex said, calling up the file window with the other twenty-six videos in it. "We'll have to watch them all."

She turned to look at Max, and Alex followed suit two seconds later.

"We might as well watch them," he said with a heavy sigh. He looked at the clock in the wall. It was late, and someone at the base was bound to ask questions. _Maybe just a couple of videos, then. _

The second video started with a shaky camera being focused and placed in position. It was strange, really, to anticipate this so much while dreading it in equal measure.

Max frowned as two men in lab coats appeared. That was Frank, all right, with beard and glasses he no longer wore. Hadn't he said something about an eye surgery? Or had that been a flash?

It didn't matter. Frank smiled and nervously fidgeted with the clipboard, while the other lab coat talked to someone off the camera.

"We're rolling," someone yelled from behind the lens.

"After so much consideration," the man who wasn't Frank started, someone Max had never seen in his life, "we believe that the decrease in oxygen inside the fluid in the pod is deteriorating at an alarming rate. The subject inside won't survive longer than a few more weeks."

"Since our one and only success is this hybrid's counterpart, we're pretty optimistic that the subject will survive." Frank said with a smile, his shaking hands now clasped. "We're as ready as we're ever going to be."

"Can you detail what went wrong with the other hybrids' emergence?" the off camera man asked. Frank frowned. The man beside him didn't look pleased.

"Lung development. We're expecting the same underdevelopment from our eighth subject, of course, but we're better prepared this time around. Even better than we were with John. This should be a success."

"Can you—" whatever the question, it was interrupted by a nurse coming to Frank. She said something on his ear, and he nodded, all serious now.

"It seems we might have been off. I don't think our subject should wait any longer, do you?"

Frank and his partner moved to a crystal panel that overlooked a wide room where a dozen people mingled around. A hospital gurney waited alongside what looked like a standard OR. But all the commotion was around a dark object, something that didn't belong in the pristine whiteness of everything else.

"As you'll see," Frank said while dressing in scrubs, "the fluid inside the pod is almost translucent now."

"Have you named the subject?" the cameraman asked. Frank smiled.

"It was closed, but John broke the tie. He voted for Max."

The video ended there, Alex's monitor becoming black.

No one said anything.

Alex closed the player, and went for the next file. Max's heart accelerated. He didn't recognize the pod from the previous video, but this one was from inside the room.

_Pod_ was an apt name for it. It was big, big enough to contain a six year old inside without much of a problem. Max had seen pictures of himself as a young kid, of course, remembered how he looked back then, but seeing himself now, floating inside, with his eyes closed and looking so vulnerable… It made him shiver.

He took a step back.

A lot of equipment was arranged in the room. A lot of bright lights. A lot of anticipation. Someone talked in the video, but Max couldn't hear it. He kept looking as a gloved hand took a scalpel and slashed in the air, indicating where the cuts would happen.

A dozen electrodes were pasted to the translucent layer of the pod, giving feedback to a dozen monitors, where lines and beeps kept tabs on his biometrics. His younger self had been wistfully ignorant of all the commotion.

The scalpel made contact, and fluid poured out. Several gashes were carefully cut at the bottom. Inside, he didn't move.

A whole minute went by as people checked monitors, more fluid gushed out, and eager hands touched the outer layer. Eager to touch him. Eager to take him out from the only place he'd ever known.

He took another step back. His heart banged in his chest. Parker and Alex where indifferent to his anxiety, glued to what was happening on the monitor.

The same gloved hand cut right atop of him, and the layer gave up without any resistance. The scalpel was left behind. They reached for his head first, bringing it outside.

Max collided with the wall. It was as if he were trapped in a flash. He remembered… he remembered the sensation of something going through his mouth and throat. He remembered the discomfort, wanting to move but unable to do so.

In the video, his airways were being cleared. Someone supported his shoulders while someone else placed a heart monitor.

The light came afterwards. To his sensitive eyes, it hurt like hell. All he'd known was darkness, comfortable and warm, and now he was experiencing cold and light for the very first time. He tried to fight harder.

He wasn't looking at the video anymore. He was _trapped_ in it. His body was completely taken out and placed on the gurney. Hands, so many of them, touched him, prodded him. It was confusion to the nth degree, and the only reason Max was not losing it now was because his adult mind understood what had happened.

It didn't make a difference. He was scared. When the tube to help him breath entered his throat, Max's gag reflex took over.

Sitting on the floor, he tried to throw up. Unlike his six-year old self, he was not being sedated now. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't get away. Everything hurt, everything was horrible out here. He needed back!

"Max? Max?!"

He was hyperventilating, and he didn't care. He needed air more than he needed logic, and he was going to get it one way or another.

"Hey! HEY! Snap out of it!" Alex grabbed him by the shoulder. Cold broke through Max's skin. He turned feral eyes on his captor, and without even extending his hand he sent Alex flying half way the lab.

"MAX!" Parker yelled. "IT'S OVER! IT'S NOT YOU!"

But it was him. It had been. Parker kept talking and he couldn't follow. He didn't need to see more videos to recall what it had been like those days. He had felt so alone, so vulnerable… and Frank and Maggs…

A phone was showed in his face. _His _phone_. _And it was showing an incoming call. Max blinked.

"They're calling you!" Parker said with urgency, trying to shake him awake without touching him. Behind her, Whitman sat with a perplexed look.

Max grabbed the phone on automatic. "Evans," he answered, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. Frank's voice came loud and clear.

"Where are you?"

"At—" _Starbucks_? He wildly looked for the clock on the wall. It was past midnight. "Still at Starbucks, something came up," he said dismissively. "I'm on my way there."

"You bet you are. Briefing starts in an hour, so you better be in here."

Frank hung up. Max stood up. A briefing at 1:00 a.m. meant he was going to be on a plane to somewhere in the middle of nowhere by 5:00 a.m. So much for revelations.

Nausea returned with a vengeance as he attempted to stand.

"Are you okay?" Parker asked, while Alex joined Liz, his eyes weary.

"I'm sorry… I was… I usually don't lose control that way," he said as Alex gave him a hand to stand up.

"Good to know. That was… that was pretty intense," Alex said, looking back at the paused video, which was thankfully showing an out of focus image of the general chaos that his birth had been. "Are you okay?"

"I will be. They want me back at the base. I—I probably won't be able to come back for a few nights."

"What do you want me to tell John?" Liz asked.

"Stay away from him, both of you. This hardly proves anything."

"That's gonna be hard to do," Alex said, sitting in front of his computer. "Since right now he's Liz's boss _and _my partner."

"Find a way. Take extended leave. Do something. I'll contact you when I'm back, okay? Don't dig any further."

He turned around and went through the door. His heart jammed in his chest. He had absolutely no idea if this was going to be the last time he walked through this hall. And no idea if he wanted to keep watching.


	25. Summer Time

_July 11th, 2011 – Day 1732 and counting_

It's not unusual for me to come "home" from my missions alone. It allows me time to decompress… To rearrange my thoughts and be okay with carrying out my orders, being them to spy, steal, destroy, or kill.

For the millionth time, I tell myself this won't last long. I'm almost at the end. It's been five days since I saw those videos, and part of me wants to believe John is out there just to help me out. It's a part of me that is growing every day…

I park on my usual spot just to realize that Maggs's car is also parked on her usual spot. I _know_ there's trouble. I wasn't off when I told Parker that I wouldn't be coming for a few nights, but maybe I should have added a couple of weeks.

There's only one reason for Maggs to be here. And it always involves me under a lot of stress, so buried in physical tests I'd wish I were plotting someone else's demise.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
Summer Time**

* * *

"I just got wind of this two hours ago," Frank said as he paced back and forth, while Maggs sipped her coffee and Max felt like turning around, getting his jeep, and disappear—drugs be damned. "Summers will be here at 6:00 a.m. with a new battery of tests he says will get you further."

Leave it to Frank's extended grapevine to tell him when trouble was coming. Sure, Summers had tight schedules to coordinate with Max's _very _tight schedules, so surprise visits were… nonexistent. That Summers had decided to just pop out of nowhere was a matter of concern.

_You are this close to leaving, just play along,_ he told himself as Frank told him pretty much the same thing: "if you follow his instructions, chances are he'll get tired to wait for you to magically produce a new trick."

_As I said, play along._

"Why does Summers think Max can do something else is beyond me," Maggs said with exasperation. "He knows he has to submit any tests to us first, and we get the final word on allowing them to go through."

Frank nodded. Max watched them debating their joint strategy, as they usually did whenever Summers was scheduled, or anything major was about to happen in his life.

Like being born.

_They lied to me. They have lied to me since the moment I came out of that pod. _So why were they fighting for him? Why did they despise Summers as much as he did? Were they the enemy or not?

_It won't matter once I'm out. _

He fervently hoped it wouldn't.

"Well, whatever he's thinking, he has another thought coming," Frank said, stopping. "We can go ahead and re-schedule Max's six month evaluation."

"You think Summers won't care to reschedule our reschedule?" Maggs interrupted, going for another cup of coffee. She was addicted to it the same way Max was addicted to checking on Parker. "What kind of strings he must have pulled to land on us like this…?"

"At least we can win a day or two to regroup."

"Why don't we just give in?" Max asked, for the first time getting a say on his own future. Frank and Maggs looked at him as if he'd said he was pregnant. "I mean, he always wins. You might delay it, you might change some of his tests, but he _always _wins. This way at least he'll leave sooner rather than later."

"Because we're giving him power," Maggs answered firmly, her coffee forgotten on the table. "Is no secret to you that Summers thinks we are too soft on you, and that you should be accomplishing more. When Frank and I run interference, it isn't because we think we can spare you, though we certainly try. It is so he knows he can't barge in and use you."

Funny, it felt as if everyone wanted to use him these days.

He didn't sleep much that night. He hadn't been for the past weeks, and although his powers fixed the dark circles under his eyes, his concentration was off. And an off concentration meant his flashes started to multiply like bunnies.

The bright side about having seen Parker not a week ago was that he hadn't gotten any ill flashes from her. Or actually, any flashes at all. He'd been too nervous to get them. Too anxious about her having rattled him out that he had forgotten all about getting a flash, and had started thinking about just getting out of the base.

Just like Frank had promised, someone knocked on his door before 6:30 a.m. The request to get ready and come out had not really been a request, but an order. The messenger hadn't been from around there, either, so it was obvious that Summers hadn't come alone.

_Great, just great. _Audiences didn't make him nervous, but they made him feel self-conscious. Yes, he was different, yes, he was special. And yes, he could do nice tricks. But the stares that he would invariable get from those new to his powers were unnerving.

Haunting.

It didn't matter. Before the clock had hit 7:00 a.m., Max stood in front of Summers, who looked at him with a rather predatory eye.

_Don't flinch. Don't flinch. Don't even think about flinching…_

"Sorry for the early rise, Max. But I think I might have some good ideas of how to spend your morning."

Summers's smile barely qualified as such. _Don't flinch, Don't—_ He flinched, and covered it with a cough.

"You're not coming down with something, are you?" Summers said, standing up, taking a folder with several papers inside.

Max shook his head. He'd never gotten sick in his life. He'd gotten pain, and had felt nauseous and dizzy from drugs and tests. But a flu? A run of the mill cold? Those were as alien to him as… well, they were just alien. Things he read about that he never got to experience, like vacation time, and a drug-free life.

Unlike all the other times, Summers didn't explain what the tests were about. He didn't even introduce his two aids. Worse, Frank and Maggs were nowhere to be found.

The next twenty minutes were business as usual. He got undressed, put on some pants, and let them stick as many electrodes to his body as they wished. Soon, the hum of monitors joined their quiet task. He was used to hearing his heartbeat going up as he raced or exerted himself, and he was used to hear it going slow if he was coming down and relaxing. That usually involved Maggs, and with her out of the picture, so was a quiet morning.

His heartrate leveled out at 72 bpm, and he took a deep breath. Whatever was going to happen, it was going to happen soon.

"It's been brought to our attention that you have been a bit… distracted," Summers started, getting his folder open. Max's heartrate started to raise, and Max hastily concentrated on getting it down. Lying to polygraphs had been part of his training ages ago, and this was no different than that. _Just a big, happy lie detector,_ he thought as he looked straight at Summers as the man stood up, the folder on his hand.

"Why do you think it happens?" he asked off handily. Max swallowed for a moment, his eyes never wandering off Summers's.

"I've been in a lot more missions lately. I tried to deal with them, but it's hard sometimes… if I don't get out much, I get a bit angsty."

"Is that so?" Summers asked, leaning on the examination table in front of Max.

"Distractions can be dangerous," he sneered a moment later. "What's so interesting about Starbucks?"

He couldn't stop the monitors from picking his jump in cardiac rhythm. He willed it back hastily, but the damage had already been done.

"What does it have to do with training?" Max asked, trying to sound curios and confused.

"Why Starbucks?" Summers repeated, like a dog that wouldn't let his bone go.

"It's near, it's cheap, and people mingle. I don't stand out, I don't spend much, and I don't go far. It was the logical destination."

"Hm…" Summers said. He barely inclined his head once, indicating the aid behind Max to do something. And that something was to heavily place his hand on Max's shoulder.

The flash came instantly. And so did his bio-readings, the monitors picking up his reaction.

"What did you see?" Summers asked in a deadly tone. Max barely heard him, as an image of the aid as an eight-year old almost drowning on a pool passed through his mind. He coughed on reflex, shaking his head once to dispel the sensation.

"I—" _Nothing_ was not an option. The monitors had picked the changes in his body. And Summers_ knew. _

_I don't care what you did with yours!_

Frank's words echoed in his mind. Summers had trained John, or at the very least, had supervised him.

"I don't—"

Distractions… how had Summers learned about his distractions? Starbucks was actually an easy one: he reported about it all the time. He came back to the base with a cup _all the time. _Had he gotten careless? Had John rattled him out?

"I don't know…" he finally admitted, a compromise between how much he had mastered his power and how much Summers wanted to know.

"Since when are you getting them? The images?"

"About… I don't know, maybe three weeks?"

"Try harder," Summers intoned, leaning so close to Max, that Max almost backed off. Almost.

"I don't know. At first I didn't know they were happening. They have been keeping me awake for some time now. It's hard to sleep… my attention has been… off."

"And you failed to report that to Frank because…?"

This time, he couldn't will the monitors to show his heartbeat hadn't increased. Lying was one thing. Lying at this level, under Summers steely eyes, was plain impossible.

"I… I was waiting to understand it."

"Well, what do you know? That's exactly what I want."

This was his worst nightmare: a new power, Summers, and no way out.

And it was only starting.


	26. Allies

_Journal entry #14, July 13th, 2011_

You know how they say that ignorance is bliss? They might be onto something. Ever since I learned the truth about Max Evans, my nights seem longer, and my sleep-time shorter.

Even getting to know his last name seems like a victory.

I don't kid myself. My life will be forever marked by a "before" and "after" Max. Maybe I'll never find the drug, or how to get him off it. Maybe I'll never see him again on his doorframe. But at least I know that somehow, I helped Max found the only other person out there who seems to care about him.

If only John hadn't disappeared along with Max.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
Allies**

* * *

"Liz, are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Alex said in exasperation, his bright blue eyes pleading with her. "Why are we even here?!"

_Here_ being the lab, and not running through airports to reach the other side of the world. Since Max had left, Alex had become her shadow. Her _talkative_ shadow, that is. Good grief, and she thought Maria was bad when she was babbling!

"We are here because Max needs to see the rest of it," Liz said, referring to the USB that she was still taking everywhere except the shower.

"Liz, I know I've said this a thousand times—"

"—a million—"

"—but you're dealing with aliens!"

"Alex—"

"God! I shook John's hand! I've been talking to him for _months!_ I'm—I'm—I'm hyperventilating…" he said, half panting, half horrified. "We're dealing with aliens!" he repeated, finally sitting down on the stool in front of her, his eyes a bit glazy. "We can't keep doing this…"

She loved Alex like a brother, but he could be so blind sometimes.

"Doing this? You mean, dealing with aliens? Alex, I'm dealing with a man who was cheated out of life! You _saw _the videos!" she said angrily, pointing out at his open laptop. "You saw what they did to him! What they are probably making him do right now! They don't even see him as a person…" she whispered, unconsciously hugging herself.

They had watched all twenty-seven videos. There was no way Alex would have stopped, and honestly, neither could she. She'd told herself that there might be something related to the drug she could use—and she'd been right—but deep down she'd also wanted to know the secrets Max would never tell her. Try to understand him better.

"What do you think they'll do to _you_ if they find out how much you know?"

"Alex. I know you're worried. I _know _that what you're saying makes sense. But… you never saw him coming back so tired he could barely stand. He never asked for _your_ help, he asked mine. I'm—I'm sorry, I just can't leave him."

"Great… That's just _great. _You know I won't leave this place until you hear reason and—"

"Max is not coming back," John's voice cut through Alex's pleads as sharp as a samurai sword. Liz felt her heart sink so fast, she didn't even have time to be relived John was back, standing on Max's doorframe.

"What do you mean he's not coming back?" she asked, her voice sounding high pitched.

"He… They caught him using a new power. One he'll spend months trying to master under the watchful eye of one Dr. Summers. He'll be lucky if he sees the light of day before six months go by. He won't risk coming back here after that."

In this mood, with that intensity in his eyes and the black cloud over his head, John was a dead ringer for Max.

"They—they wouldn't…" Alex started, standing between John and herself. "I mean, they won't hurt him, right?"

"Depends on your definition of hurt," John said, walking towards them. "I take it you saw the videos?"

Alex nodded slowly. Liz sat down, closing her eyes. "Max only got to watch three. He was sick after the last one. I mean, _literally_ sick."

Something must have crossed John's face, because Alex quietly said, "the one where they took him out of the pod…?"

"Fun memories," John said, with no trace of joy. "You said the last time that the drug they used on me was different than the one they're using on Max. Have you narrowed it down?"

Liz stood up, standing beside Alex. "I'm on the final stretch. I don't know how long it would take me to have a counter-drug. It might be six months for all I know."

"No, that's good. What do you need to finish it?"

Liz's eyes went wide. "Honestly? I need Max. Here. As in days, not his twenty-minute visits, but we both know that's out of the question."

"How many days?"

His insistence was convincing enough. "Three, maybe four. He needs to run the trial, I need to see what happens. The problem is, he'll be at the base if something happens."

"Maybe, maybe not… Leave that problem to me, you work on the drug."

What kind of power was John going to use to achieve that? Time travel?

On video #5, the doctors had gone into detail about Max's telekinetic abilities at the tender age of nine. He had been meticulously recorded and every conceivable bio-data recorded. His limit back then had been sixty pounds, pretty much his own weight.

On video #9, the doctors were showing the scans of Max's brain activity, going into detail about what exercises Max had been going through when the images had been processed. It sounded a lot like Max had gone from his own weight to being able to lift an entire car. Two tons and some change, before he had passed out.

"John, what are you going to do?"

"Whatever it takes."

On video #8, an eighteen-year old Max aimed his gun at a target, and fired repeatedly. The recoiled on his wrist and arm was all the movement in his posture. All 8 rounds found their mark at 100%. And that had been only the beginning, while whoever was narrating it went on and on about how Max needed to master his skills in the event the use of his special abilities was compromised.

Max had been taught to kill before he was even legal to enter a bar. The logical part of her brain told her that it described every single enlisted man and woman between 18 and 21. Somehow, she couldn't even begin to imagine what it had done to Max. She just couldn't.

"We have to get him out," John said with a frustrated sigh. "But it wasn't easy on my time and I don't want to think how hard things are going to be now. Especially locked on that place, with everyone's eyes on him."

"Woa, woa, woa," Alex said, his shoulders squaring. "We cannot just go against the US government and tell them to hand their alien-human hybrid to us. Preferable in one piece." He winced as he said that.

"I think we'll be a bit more subtle about it, Whitman," John said with a pointed look. In all the commotion and between the anxiety and the waiting, Liz had forgotten that Alex actually _knew _John way better than she did.

"Subtle how? We'll sneak him out of the window?"

"No," John said thoughtfully, "We won't sneak him out at all…"

* * *

**AN:** Hey guys! Thanks for reading! If you're enjoying the story so far and are liking the daily updates, let me know!


	27. Untouched

_July 15th, 2011 – Day 1736 and counting_

It seems an eternity has passed between Summer's predatory gaze, and Maggs's resigned eyes looking down at me.

She won't touch me. She won't risk me getting more unwanted flashes, but I miss her comforting hands dearly. I miss human contact. I miss going out. Hell, I even miss going out to kill some target who has done unspeakable things to this nation or however it is they justify it.

Not for the first time, I realize that I hate my life.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
Untouched**

* * *

"You should have said something," Frank said in a low voice as he prepared the syringe, while Max's hand shook with uncontrollable tremors. His last fix had been three days ago, but with so much "stimulation", with his powers going high wire and his stress levels going through the roof, the once-a-week routine did not apply.

He needed that drug _now._

"I know…" Max whispered, his eyes following the syringe with the same attention that Summers had followed the lines on his EEG for the past 72 hours.

"Why did you think you couldn't?" Maggs asked, her eyes roaming his face for an answer that Max would not let her see. Gone were the years where he had trusted her explicitly. Gone were so many things.

"I didn't want to worry you," the explanation came. He had been lying for months now, sure, but the fact that he knew how much and for how long _they _had been lying to him made telling half-truths the more easier.

"Max. You thought that developing a new power would _worry _us?" Frank moved closer and didn't even have to ask. Max extended his arm with hopeful eyes. He was one second away from salivating.

"I was worried about Summers finding out." And boy, was that the truth. The honest-to-God truth of it all.

"For all the good it did," Maggs said with a stern face. He had rarely seen her angry. He wished he didn't care. "He came to us at 6:00 a.m. proclaiming you had been withholding information about you. We laughed. We _laughed! _Do you even understand that? The power you gave him over you?"

_The power he took from you over me?_

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, feeling the needle going in, feeling his body relaxing as his blood stream took that wretched thing into his cells. Into his brain.

"We told him we were so sure that wasn't true that he could go right ahead and ask you. We wouldn't interfere."

This time, Max flinched. It was one thing to know they had lied to him but cared about him, and another that he had indirectly aided Summers to push him into this hell.

"He can't touch you today. Not while the drug is so fresh in your system and you look like hell," Maggs said firmly, her eyes turning to the glass behind her. "He accelerated your body's need for it, now he has to pay."

_Funny, it feels like the only one who's paying here is me. All the time. _

"That's a relief…"

Summers had known just enough about how flashes worked. John must have been having them at some point. Who knew? Who_ cared?_ Summers had him now and there was nowhere to hide, much less to run.

Adrenaline triggered flashes. Not all the time, but it was a key component, along with touching an object or a person with his bare skin—usually his hands. Since he couldn't will them to happen, an _event_ had to be encouraged, and that meant getting his heart pumping.

Easiest way to do that was exercise. Max had run miles upon miles on the threadmill, while various objects were placed at the back of his hands. That had given them mild results. Barely enough to get a baseline.

So Summers started to get creative. They were now using low charged electroshocks. They didn't hurt him, exactly, but were enough to keep Max on alert and his adrenaline running. Enough to improve his flash rates.

He lied. He lied every time they asked what had he seen and instead had given them vague answers. Maybe he'd picked a color. Maybe a detail here and there. In reality, he was getting bombarded with information that his brain could not process fast enough. He would get a flash and then recall the last before that one. In one hour, he could record eighteen different _events_, all loading and pilling up at the back of his head. Details that he had not consciously picked started to blend with similar other flashes. He was getting an overload of information, and a monster headache to go with it.

He was so sensitive to getting flashes right now, he didn't dare to touch anything or anyone. Not until he could get a grip on himself.

For the first time in his life, he was thankful for that drug. For the respite it was giving him. Since Summers had taken over his life three days ago, nothing had made sense but getting out of the testing with his secrets intact. Now he could think straight. And his very first thought was to get to Parker.

He pushed it down. Thoughts like that were likely to get him kill, or get _her_ killed. Not to mention that knowing John was out there was a huge time-bomb as well.

It was scary how many times since he'd found about his "older brother" Max had been tempted to ask about him. About the others. _Eight_ pods, that was what the videos had said. What if there had been more? The videos implied he and John where the only surviving ones, but was it true?

_What reason would these people have to lie? _The thought was depressing. He'd lost six brothers and sisters he'd never known about. He missed the idea of them, but he was glad at least they had been spared this life.

Dreams haunted him. About what was on the other twenty-four videos he had not seen. About John coming into his room with a smirk, telling him all along it had been a trap. About Parker leaving the lab.

Summers was not going to let him go, not in the foreseeable future. How much did John know about him? How long would Parker wait?

How long could Max endure?


	28. In The Beginning

_Journal entry #15, July 19th, 2011_

Last year, Maria was pushing me to have a life out of the lab. Make new friends, go out, have an adventure.

As I prepare Max's syringes and listen to John go over his plans with Alex, I smile. I don't think Maria had this in mind, but I suddenly feel like I can take on the world.

I finally feel like I'm not a small-town girl anymore.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
In the beginning**

* * *

"I knew chances were Max would die before they took him out of the pod," John explained, forgetting for a moment the pizza in front of him. Alex had gained a grip on things over late nights and take-out, a fact that Liz thanked to her lucky stars. Without Alex on board, getting Max out was going to be a whole lot more difficult.

"No other survived?" she asked. The videos had implied it, but maybe—

"All the others died," he said, a haunted look in his eyes. Whatever John was remembering, Liz knew it wasn't pleasant. "I planned my escape carefully around that day, Max's 'birthday'. Everyone was going to be busy with him, even if he died… And yet I heard… the last official thing I heard was that he had survived. It was too late, I had to go right that moment or face the consequences of a failed escape attempt. I never forgot about him, not one day in these past twenty-two years."

Alex swallowed hard. The thing about Alex was that once his loyalty was won over, he really stuck to his friends. Maybe he didn't think of John and Max as their friends, but they were Liz's friends, and that was enough for now. Plus, his curiosity was getting the best of him.

"Would they really hurt him?" Alex asked. Liz's appetite dwindled the more they talked about it.

"It's not… _nice, _but it's not a torture chamber. Since we're unique and all, they don't want us dead. The problem is how can they manage to understand what we do if they don't keep pushing us? They're careful. After all, they can't replace us."

Video #17 had detailed how reproductive incompatible Max and John were. Their hybridization did not seem to have rendered them infertile, but their genetics were different enough that offspring were unviable. The thought of someone taking Max's children away to do to them what they were doing to him was nauseating. She lost all appetite at that memory.

John blinked, apparently getting back to the here and now. "It was so long ago, and I still feel like I was there last week. So much has changed," he added, absently touching his wedding band. The wife Max had insisted was not real, and yet the fondness in John's eyes could not be feigned.

"I still can't believe the crash was real," Alex said, getting back to his pizza. He stared at John as he always did when he remembered John was not entirely from around here. John found it funny, for some reason. She doubted very much Max would remotely approve.

"And let's not forget, our honest-to-God alien powers," John supplied with a grin, waving his hand over his pizza, heating it up. "Half-alien, anyway," he added as an afterthought. "At least they don't know everything Max can do, because Max doesn't know himself. And we do have some nifty tricks under our sleeves."

"The videos…" Liz started, her curiosity gaining the best of her. John looked up at her as he bit into his pizza. "They didn't go into detail about the crash… Not really…"

He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. "It _was_ the Roswell crash," he declared. He seemed to get a kick that they were from there. _How small this world is,_ he'd said with his infectious grin. "All the crew was dead before the US military got to them. The only things alive inside the ship were eight pods. I didn't remember emerging from one until I saw the pods when I was thirteen. They were hoping I could tell them anything about them, I guess. In any case, it was an eye opener for me. Max was the only one left by that point."

"They told you everything?" Liz asked, astonished.

"Oh, they did, at least everything they had. We're smart, they wanted to see if I could figure it out. I'm guessing that my leaving made them change tactics. They didn't tell Max any of this, did they?"

Liz shook her head. "Not the alien part, I don't think so. Max wasn't exactly spelling out his secrets to me, but he was intrigued when I told him."

_He didn't know anything, really, _Liz wanted to say. All Max seemed to care about his past was everything he'd been told. It made sense, really. All he wanted was a future.

"They were eight in total… they were all you? Like Max and you?" Alex asked. It was so strange to be asking these questions and having John so openly answering them. For the past days all they had been doing was hacking into Max's files and Summer's files, while planning the best way to get him out.

John shook his head. "Four girls, four boys… We grew up inside the pods you saw in the videos. When we arrived, we resembled six-month human fetuses. They took out the first one about two months after the crash, a pod that had been damaged during the landing. They had finished discovering the wonders of the four full-fledged aliens who'd died. We were next."

"I'm so sorry," Liz whispered. Had they been their parents? Everyone who was like Max, everyone who had any answers… they were all gone except for John.

"That's okay," John said with half a smile. "We _are_ human, for the most part, you know? Whoever these aliens were, I don't think we were related."

As much as John tried to make light of things, Alex and Liz couldn't stop feeling awful for the whole thing. John sighed, and then chuckled.

"I better finish telling the story, I guess… the more you know, the more you can tell Max in case I'm not around when you see him next."

He took a sip of his Cherry Coke, and Liz wondered how many things he shared with Max. Her eyes went of their own accord to the doorframe as John started again.

"They discovered we were hybrids with that first subject, a girl. Three years later, they decided they wanted to crack another pod open. This time, one of the boys. By that point, we were viable fetuses for human standards. We weighted twelve pounds by then. Frankly, they were tired of waiting for us to be ready. We looked like we would make it."

"Except he didn't…" Alex said, absently chewing on his pizza.

"No, but they learned more from this subject and his pod. They tried again with another girl in 67'. They discovered that it was a lung problem. It's a flaw in our design, actually. We lack the lung capacity to sustain us outside our pods."

"Maybe you weren't design to be in this atmosphere," Liz theorized, thinking fast. John shrugged, finishing the last of his pizza.

"Whatever the cause is, when they went for the third girl, they knew what to expect. She didn't survive more than a few hours."

_All of them… What is this going to do to you, Max? _

"That's what the video was about," Alex said, his eyebrows going to his hairline. "I mean, where Max was… being… born—that's what they did. They hooked him to a respirator right away."

"That's how it was for you?" Liz asked.

John nodded, reaching for the tabasco sauce in the middle of their impromptu dining table. It was half empty and he had been the only one pouring it on his food all week long. He doused his newly acquired slice of peperoni and mushroom liberally. "Trust me, my hatching wasn't any easier… or fun. At least they had practice with me by the time they reached Max. I spent one month in intensive care. They realized that by using a neonatal drug to expand our lungs, they could potentially save me."

_Of course, not even being born would be easy for you, uh?_

"What number were you? Fifth?"

"No, I was the sixth. They went with another approach with the fifth hybrid, the last girl. They were trying to figure out a way to improve our vitals inside the pod. The fluid got contaminated… it wasn't pretty." John stopped, his eyes getting unfocused again. "I saw the pictures, all of them. And I saw Max, inside that pod." He blinked, getting back to reality and to his pizza. "Anyway, in '74, I was their first success. Champagne and high-fives and congratulations." John toasted with his Cherry Coke, and arched an eyebrow when Liz and Alex didn't follow. "I'm really glad they got it right, you know? I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Liz exchanged a glance with Alex, and they both reached with their own beverages in an awkward toast.

"That's better," John said, grinning. "I hadn't thought about this in a _long_ time. I'm feeling old…" he joked, his eyes returning to his wedding band for a moment. "Where was I? Oh, right, they already had me, and they had two boys left. Chances where, now that they knew how to do it, they would both live. They were wrong."

Rain started falling outside, and for one moment Liz wondered if John could control the weather as well. The things he could do were absolutely fascinating, and she wouldn't put it past him to be able to call a little rain in.

"What happened to the seventh?" Alex asked quietly.

John took a deep breath. "They never really explained that to me. Once I was out of the pod I started maturing as any other 6 year-old. Since the other two subjects were safe and sound in their pods, they didn't want to push their luck, and instead concentrated their sights on me."

"I bet you showing all those powers intrigued them," Liz said, frowning. How old had John been when he had exhibited his first paranormal activity?

"It made them _hungry,_" he corrected her. "By 1982, they were ready to take their chances with the next boy. I was fourteen, and showing so much potential, they wanted another one ASAP. So they went for the seventh. He never gained consciousness. They kept him in some sort of comma until he just gave up. They didn't let me see him, but he wasn't like us. I mean, the same way Max and I are clones of each other."

Liz frowned. "You mean… wait, what do you mean?"

"We were two sets of four. There were two of each."

Liz blinked, coming up blank with any idea of the reason behind that.

"After that, they just stopped trying to get Max out. They wanted to see how it was supposed to work, what the aliens were trying to do. How long were we supposed to be in those pods, instead of cutting him out. You saw the video for that one. The oxygen levels plummeted, and instead of waiting for Max to come out on his own, they intervene at the last possible moment."

"This thing just gets weirder," Alex said heartfelt. "I mean, what possible use would it be to have you emerged as six-years old?"

"We'll never know," John said, taking the last sip of his Coke. "We might have been a failed experiment for all we know. Maybe something was missing from the crash. But as time passes, and life goes on, all that I really care is that we're here, we're alive. Nothing else matters." A beat. "Well, nothing but getting Max out, that is."


	29. Coming Through

_July 21st, 2011 – Day 1742 and counting_

It's been ten days since Summers took over my life. I went from despair to denial to anger to resignation, and not necessarily in that order. He's going to be in my life for who knows how long, so I keep telling myself all I need to do is endure. Sooner or later, someone is going to need my talents more than Summers wants his answers, and I'll be shipped out to another mission. Yet I have no illusions: it might take a while.

I've been dreaming a lot these days, about a certain brunette, her hacker friend, and my other older self. If only dreams could come true.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine  
Coming Through**

* * *

At first, Max had woken up every day with a sense that he was forgetting something and then he'd dismiss it. Summers had moved into a more aggressive exercise routine now that he had a better base-line, but Max was sure the electroshock therapy would make an appearance sometime soon. That or something else.

Like every single test in his life, he was expected to ace it. To get better at handling his newfound power. To be all he could be. If he didn't start showing improvements soon, then he risked Summers getting _really_ creative about it.

The problem was that Max couldn't just suddenly be good at it. He couldn't condensed four months of his own practice into a few days in the lab. If Summers found out for how long he'd known he could do this, he would be digging his own figurative grave.

When Max woke up on the thirteenth day of his new life, he was _sure _he was missing something. By the time he reached his bed that night, every single muscle of his body ached, and the headache that split his head in two reminded him in no uncertain terms that he couldn't keep lying to Summers. He had to give the guy something before he decided the only way he was going to get answers was with a scalpel to his brain.

_At this point, would that make any difference? _He was too tired to answer himself. He fell asleep without even changing to pants.

"There you are!" a voice greeted him with relief. Max blinked. His head didn't hurt so much, but his body still felt heavy. Lying on his bed, all he could see was the ceiling. He couldn't move.

"If I had known dreamwalking you was going to be this hard, I would have started years ago," the voice was nice enough, but Max couldn't see anyone. He couldn't get up either.

"Don't fight it, or you're going to wake us up. Just, relax."

The last time he'd heard someone telling him to relax had been a lifetime ago. All Summers wanted was to keep him stressed out. Regardless, he tried. He was too tired to fight this, anyway.

John was there a second later. Max turned to look around, afraid someone was going to see him.

"Hey, it's okay. You're dreaming."

"What?"

"We've been having this conversation for the past eight nights," John said with a resigned sigh. "I've been trying to contact you through your dreams. I guess you must be pretty wiped out if I'm getting such a clear reception tonight."

"You're real?"

"Yes. Are they letting you go out?"

_Real? He was real? _

"Max?"

"How can you do this?"

"Practice. Motivation. We spent a lot of time separated with my wife, who would kill me if she knew what I'm trying to do. Now, Max, would they let you out of the base?"

"Summers wants a breakthrough. I'm not giving him any."

"Do it," John said in all seriousness. "Summers is always happy when he gets things going. It'll be easier to convince him to let you go for a couple of hours. We'll take it from there. And Max, please remember this time around."

When the alarm clock went off the next morning, Max opened his eyes and stared at the red numbers. He had a job to do.

Summers greeted him with an absent wave as he looked over the stats.

"I need a break," Max said, the aid behind him stopping in mid motion to get his jacket off as if Max had confessed he was going to escape.

"I need results," Summers said without looking up. "You get your breaks when your fix is needed," he stated, putting the charts down and looking icy eyes at him.

"Let me work this out on my own. Today, tomorrow. If I make good progress, then give the time out for a couple of days."

Summers arched an eyebrow, skeptic. "Look," Max tried again, "I'm just too worried about getting enough flashes I don't really pay attention to the quality of them. Maybe I can change that and earn my break at the same time."

This time, Summers contemplated the deal. In Max's mind, the plan was simple: if John really talked to him in his dreams, he would attempt contacting Max for the following two nights, and would learn if Max had been allowed to go out. On the other hand, if it had been only wishful thinking and no one was out there waiting for him, well… he could really use the time out of this place.

An eternity later, Summers nodded. "Okay, let's try it your way."


	30. Familiar Faces

_August 4th, 2011 – Day 1756 and counting_

I've always been fond of the saying "nothing is what it seems" for obvious reasons. What I've come to discover is that is not all that funny when the person who isn't what he seems to be is not me.

For one thing, it makes me paranoid.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty  
Familiar Faces  
**

* * *

It took Max another six days before Summers relented and let him go. Summers wasn't an idiot, Max knew, but maybe they could work a silent agreement that Max would give better results if Summers wasn't jerking him around.

So far, the only reason he was let go was because Summers had _so much_ information he couldn't have Max producing more. New tests needed to be designed, new measurements to be thought out. In that regard, Frank was the master mind, and with Frank on the equation, things were bound to get easier and more relax around.

He'd told John last night he had a fair chance to be out today, but had no idea at what time he might pull it off. He wasn't even sure if John had gotten the message, to tell the truth.

On his way out, Maggs stopped him. "Would you mind if I take that cup of coffee with you?" she asked, taking her keys out of her purse. "I can save you the driving," she smiled.

Max forced himself to smile back. "I'd love to."

In all honesty, this was the first time in his life that he was going to have coffee with Maggs. Ever since he'd taken the drug, she'd always kept him at arms' length when it came to forming personal bonds. As if she were afraid to get too attached to him, or he to her.

"Frank tells me you're developing an unhealthy coffee addiction," she said with a small smile while they drove away from the base. She was teasing him. He shrugged, willing his heart to remain steady despite the fact that there were no machines to beep his lies away.

"I like the atmosphere. Feeling normal for once."

"A bunch of strangers who don't look at you with microscopes attached to their hands?" she asked.

Max nodded. "Or a bunch a strangers who are not expecting me to kill anybody."

She frowned at that. "I don't know how you can live with that. I never thought you would go through with it, to tell you the truth."

_Because is not on my psych evaluation,_ Max added silently. He'd gotten that much out of Maggs' flashes. Of all the people around him, she'd been the least to provoke a flash, and all had been about things he mostly already knew.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. That was probably Maggs' signature question.

"Tired," he said without thinking. "Stupid, for letting Summers take your place," he added with a humorless chuckle. She nodded at him while keeping her eyes on the road.

"Are you happy?" she asked out of the blue.

"Is anybody?" Max answered without turning to look at her. Frank had never been any good at dealing with emotions, much less talking about them. Maybe it was a women thing. Maggs always knew how to read him.

"I'm not asking anybody," she said, the Starbucks logo up ahead. Right in front of Parker's lab building. He turned his eyes to the window.

"What do you want me to tell you, Maggs? That I hate this life? That I wish I hadn't taken that deal with the drug? You and I know perfectly well they would have found something else, _anything_ else to make me do their dirty work. I'm too valuable a commodity to be left alone."

She nodded. "They would. Frank and I… we tried to keep them away as much as we could, you know that, right?"

What was he supposed to answer? You didn't do enough? I know how much you gained from it? Even if he hadn't gained these flashes, he'd always known Maggs and Frank were not his parents, were not there to protect him from the world. They were there to _understand_ him, and that meant testing. All the time. About everything.

So, he didn't answer. The silence stretched as she didn't push it. A couple of minutes later, she parked in the only Starbucks parking available. He closed the door with all the care in the world to not slam it, and told himself he had to change his attitude if he intended to spend the next two hours in this place, talking to her.

Parker's car was not there. _So John didn't get the message… _

Max hardly had any time to think about it. Instead of going into the Starbucks store, Maggs walked towards Parker's building. She didn't say a thing. She didn't even turn to look around to see if Max followed.

He froze. A thousand—_million_ scenarios crossed his mind. Parker was dead. John was dead. Hell, Whitman had died first. It all went blank in his brain after those conclusions.

He felt his legs move. He felt himself running in the same direction where Maggs had disappeared two minutes ago. He saw in his mind the scene he was more likely going to find: The lab with three bodies shot in execution style.

Maggs was going to tell him that an unhappy life was better than no life at all. That this was what he got for trying to escape. That he would never, _ever_ be let outside the base after this breach of security, and to please enjoy his last cup of Starbucks, one that he would drink and promptly throw up. _God, Parker's dead._

He opened the glass doors at full speed, his usual stealthy techniques left in the trash. The lobby was deserted as it usually was on a Sunday, and he didn't stop to wonder why the doors were not locked up.

He caught a glimpse of a door closing down the corridor, and went for it. He braced himself for the horrible truth of it all before slowly opening the door. He didn't want to see, but he was unable to blink as he saw Magg's back to him, along with his older double in the room.

"You look well, John," she said, reaching a hand to touch his cheek, a gesture she'd stopped doing for Max since the moment he'd gotten his first dose.

"You looked like a proper old lady," John said with a small smile, letting her touch him. That got a chuckle out of her.

Max blinked. His worst fear had just been confirmed: John had been working for them all this time. If Parker was not dead already, she would be before the week was over.

John's eyes locked with Max's then.

"Liz is waiting for you at her lab. She thinks she has replicated the drug and found an antidote, but you'll need to be guinea pig for her for the next few days."

_The antidote. She found the antidote. _How could the exact words he'd been waiting to hear for _years_ be said in the same situation where everything was lost? No matter how resourceful his mind, or how fast he could put a plan together, _nothing_ made sense.

"Wh-what?" he managed to ask, his hand fused to the doorknob. Maggs sighed.

"John contacted me last month," she explained, turning around. "With quite a tale. But the short version is that he's coming with me. It's the only way Dr. Parker can run the trials on you."

"Coming—you're not working for them?"

"I'm going to be your double for the next few days, so they don't know you're not there. To pull that off, I do need an insider."

"Maggs?"

"Don't look so surprise!" she said in a dry tone. "I _do_ care for you. I cared for John, too."

"You helped him escape?"

"No. I had no idea he wanted to disappear, but in retrospect, it all made sense. Samuel and I understood it, though he took it rather personal."

_Summers_. John had been under him all his life in captivity? Max shuddered. No wonder John had told him how to get on his good graces two weeks ago.

"You're not working for them," Max said, finally letting the doorknob go and sagging against the doorframe.

"I'm working on getting you out, little brother."

_Brother._ The idea was so alien it was almost laughable. He had a brother who could very well be walking into his death with arms wide open.

"You can't go," he said, while John came closer. In front of Max's eyes, his features were getting younger: The expression lines disappeared, and his tan deepened to match Max's own skin color. John didn't even blink.

"Pity you don't get to decide," John said, now a perfect replica of himself. "I couldn't pull this particular trick with anyone _but_ you. Let me have my fun!"

"Maggs—!"

"You think I didn't try to dissuade him?" Maggs answered looking between the two, her clinical eyes appraising a job well done. "You've got new tricks," she said approvingly.

"The same ones that will keep me alive. You'll stay here with Liz, run the tests. We'll have to switch back in three days for your next fix, unfortunately, but it'll be easy. Plus, I need to settle some things down for my own peace of mind."

"But—"

"Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?" John said. Taking Maggs's hand, he added with a smile, "You and I have _years_ to catch up to. See ya' in three days, Max. Don't break anything, okay?"

It wasn't until Max was walking down the hall to Parker's lab that it occurred to him that, in a rather twisted and limited way, he was actually free.


	31. Early Coffee

_August 5th, 2011 – Day 1757 and counting_

It's hard to admit this, but I'm scared. And for the first time, it doesn't have to do with myself.

I'm scared John has traded off places with me in a misguided attempt to be a hero. Maybe he's feeling guilty about leaving me there for so many years. Maybe he wants to see for himself if there are others like us. Maybe he just wants to settle his own scores. Whatever the reason he's there pretending to be me, chances are he won't be coming out of there alive.

I'm worried about Maggs. When did she contact John, anyway? For how long has she known about Parker and Plan B and all of this? What if she's just going to sell me out to Summers?

And what about Parker? And Whitman? Do they even realize how deep they are in this thing? Even if I were to disappear out of their lives right this minute, it's too late for them now.

I never meant to get so many people so deep into my world. I want freedom, I really do, I'm just not sure if this is too high a price to pay for that.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One  
Early Coffee**

* * *

Freedom came in strange packages. It came in the form of a hastily made bed on a couch at Parker's apartment, the digital clock displaying 4:56 a.m. by a corner. It came with the sound of Whitman's light snoring in the guest room, and some neighboring dogs barking from time to time. It came with Scientific America magazines on the coffee table and magnets from exotic locations on the fridge, places he couldn't picture himself having fun in.

It came without a routine of getting up, getting his biometrics in, and jumping through hoops all day long.

It came without orders, without lies, with the constant realization that he was nothing more than a tool.

He could get used to this, he really could, if only everyone around him could also be safe.

The sound of a door quietly being open got his attention immediately.

"Are you awake?" Parker whispered from her bedroom.

"Yeah," he answered, unwilling to add that he had never fallen asleep to begin with. Too much to think about. Too much to worry about.

She tiptoed her way out, an empty glass on her hand. "I usually get really thirsty at night, but I didn't want to disturb you, so…" she said as she passed him by on her way to the kitchen. "I can't believe Alex wouldn't give you the guest room," she said a little harsher.

"We flip for it and I lost," he said, getting on his elbows. It was strange to be on the couch while she stood, a plain pink t-shirt and pants serving as her pajamas.

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! Anyway, since it's 5:00 a.m. already I'm just gonna go put some coffee. We can be at the lab around 6 and start on the trial. With any luck, my boss won't be around today. How does he expect me to do anything when I have to spend half my day explaining to him what I'm doing? Oh, John didn't warn me on time, so I'm not very prepare, but would you like some cereal? I think I still have some Captain Crunch, which I know it's totally unhealthy, but what can you do about childhood habits, right?"

"Are you sure you didn't have your coffee already?" Max asked with amusement. Who would think Parker was such a babbler this early in the morning?

"I just feel really, really weird having you on my living room," she said, placing the pot of coffee on its place and hitting start. She didn't look like she'd had any sleep either, and the responsible for that was no one but Max himself.

"Parker?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"Oh… Well, thanks for trusting me in the first place. We'll get that drug, you know?"

"I've never doubted it. I just wish having me around didn't entitle so much… danger."

She looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged. She couldn't say that it was okay because it wasn't, and they both knew it. So she went for the next best thing: changing subjects.

"Have you thought what happens next? I mean, once everything is behind you and you're out on your own?"

"Not much… It still feels like an ocean is between now and then. Maybe if I think about it, I'll just jinx it or something stupid like that."

She smiled at his poor attempt at humor. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Maybe you'll send me a postcard from there. To let me know you're okay." She walked back to her room, glass of water in her hand, and closed the door so she could get ready for the day.

The enticing smell of coffee reached him then. He would never smell that again without thinking of Parker, up there at her lab, looking for his answer. Or right here on her apartment, being his friend.


	32. Background

_Journal entry #16, August 6th, 2011_

It's amazing what two little words can do for your self-esteem. I don't know why, but I never thought Max would thank me— for anything. Not for the lab work, not for keeping it together with John. Hell, not even for crashing at my place.

It's not like he doesn't appreciate what I do, or that he doesn't have his whole life in my hands, because he does. It's just that with Max, you can never have anything for granted. Not even a _thank you._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
Background**

* * *

Max's dark blood remained a mystery for her. He looked human, and so did his blood when it was filling up a vial. Everything looked as it should up until the point she looked at it under a microscope. Then it was always that moment where she would nod to herself in acceptance that this was happening, that she was part of something so monumentally big she would never again feel like a small town girl again.

She guessed Alex was still going through the adjustment process, and for once Max didn't look as if he wanted to disappear into his doorframe.

"Woa, you could—you could make a _fortune_ at Las Vegas. Have you thought about that?" Alex asked as his eyes followed a coin in midair. Max was building a rather complex coin tower with his mind alone, putting a show of his powers and actually enjoying it.

"I'm not sure what I could be good at, but scamming casinos doesn't feel like it."

"Who's talking about scamming?" Alex said with all honesty. "I was thinking about a magic show. A _huge_ magic show. You can do things no magician in the entire world could ever do!"

"I think Max wants to lie low," Liz said from her work station, anxiously waiting for the latest test result. The baseline wouldn't be ready for a couple of hours, but she still looked at it as if it would come alive any second now.

"She has a point," Max said, inspecting his tower and where would he place the next coin.

"Okay, lie low professions. What about bar tender?"

"I have no tolerance for alcohol."

"Well, that's something we both have in common," Alex said, saluting with his Coke. Max chuckled.

"I think that's the first time _ever_ someone's happy I can't drink."

"What about you, Max?" Liz asked, coming to the table where Max's ever growing tower was reaching impossible physics. "What have you thought so far?"

"I don't know… Sometimes I think I'd like to teach something, I just don't think I know things that should be taught…" he whispered.

"Self-defense classes could be a good beginning," Alex chimed in, unaware of Max's own dark cloud. "Didn't you say you're good at getting into places? I bet with your knowledge and my skills, we could have a security company running in no time."

"Maybe…" Max said, unsure.

"Or, you know, ask John," Liz said. That got Max's attention.

"John?"

"Think about it. He can do far more things than you know. _And _he's been out there for a long time. I'm pretty sure he can tell you how it's done."

Max placed the last coin without looking at it but at a random point on the table. He blinked, and the tower came crashing down a moment later. They all winced.

"Whitman, can you track down our friend John?"

"Track down as in?"

"Who is he? Parker's right, he's been out there for a long time. Maybe you can fill in the blanks."

"Sure… yeah, I mean, that's not hard… but… Why do we want to check his background? I thought he was our ally?"

"Because all we know about Mr. Herschel has come from him, and I'd feel so much better having you checking him out."

Alex shrugged, going for his laptop. "I already did a background check on his capital, you know. The company on his name has some serious interests in biological research, mostly small companies like this one."

"Research? What was he looking for?"

"Him? I don't think it had anything to do with him. His wife, on the other hand—let's just say Mrs. Herschel has some serious brains behind the whole thing."

"Told you she was real," Liz said in a teasing tone. The idea that John could be telling them lies had never crossed her mind. Maybe she needed some of Max's paranoia to rub in.

"She's real, rah-rah," he deadpanned.

Maybe not.

"You don't have to be so untrusting, you know? What John has giving me? The samples, the notes, not mentioning switching places with _you,_ has got me where we are."

"It's not like I want to be proven right, Doctor," Max said, a bit offended. "I just don't have the luxury of trusting people because they say so."

Alex cleared his throat, his fingers already flying on the keyboard. "If you two are finished on the merits of who to trust… Good. Okay, here we are: Anne Herschel, graduated at eighteen from MIT on a physics major—oh wow, she did have some strange ideas about quantum physics. Several papers on… a bunch of stuff I can't even pronounce."

"Wait, physics?" Max asked, "I thought she was into biology."

"She is. I mean, she went for a second major on biology. Graduated at twenty-one. There doesn't seem to be too much of anything until three years later. She started publishing papers like crazy."

"What year was this?"

"Let me see… um, 1993. Her research made astronomical leaps in how cells heal themselves, particularly neurons." Alex whistled then. "She made a _ton_ of money with that."

"Three guesses when she met John," Liz said.

"Why would John allow her to publish those findings?" Max asked, puzzled.

"Maybe he didn't and she did it anyway," Liz said, shrugging. She was not going to admit out loud she'd been kinda, sorta, maybe doing the same with bits and pieces of her research on him. Uh-uh. No way.

"So much for trust…"

"They married in New York State on September 1999—oh, that's interesting. Hetook her last name, which actually sounds better than John Smith, if you ask me. Everything else checks with what I already found before. Research, records, investments…"

"Except for the part where he's an actual human-alien hybrid," Max muttered. "I just wish I knew what's going on with him right now."

"He was very confident he could pull it off," Liz reminded him.

"Plus, maybe we can see what's he's doing," Alex said. "I mean, I make no promises, but maybe I can hack into the system. It's just going to take some time…"

"Do it. If nothing else, we'll know if he's in trouble."


	33. Dreamscape

_August 7th, 2011 – Day 1759 and counting_

I've never spent so much time with anyone who wasn't Frank or Maggs before. Getting used to friends is not easy, especially when we all share the same living space.

Parker doesn't seem as jumpy, at least, and she's far more worried about tomorrow's first trial with her drug than being the perfect hostess.

Whitman puzzles me out, with his strange mix of optimism and worry. I like knowing Parker grew up with him as a friend; I like the stories he tells me about them being kids best.

I think what I like the most is that they know the truth as I know it, and it doesn't seem to matter. When I'm showing off, as Parker calls it, I go all the way in. I don't think I've used my powers for fun in a long, _long _time.

It's going to be so hard to switch back.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
Dreamscape**

* * *

"I told you I could do this," John said from Max's bed. The usually tidy room was nowhere to be found. In this dream, everything was white to the point it hurt.

"You're okay?" Max asked, anxious about Summers. About Frank. About the whole thing, really.

"I'm gonna be honest here. Samuel does push you far more than he ever did me, but then again, I was twenty-one when I left this place."

"So he doesn't suspect?"

"He suspects that Starbucks coffee did wonders on your attitude and your aim. How long have you been having flashes?"

"A couple of months… They terrify me," he whispered, pacing on a never ending loop.

"They're no fun to get the hang of, I'll give you that. I didn't know how advanced you were, but I didn't know you were so behind. Samuel's head almost exploded when I started getting the information he wanted. I do admit, I'm having a blast playing with his head."

"Don't do that!" the idea of John having fun with Summers gave his dream self a bout of nausea.

"I knew Samuels long before you were hatched. I know how to handle him, he doesn't scare me."

"If Summers even _suspects_ something's going on, he'll lock you up so deep—"

"He already tried. Why do you think I escaped?" They both stared at each other, trying to make the other understand. John sighed. "Listen, Max, at this point Summers is very happy, and I'm hoping Parker is happy with you around. How are the trials going?"

"She made me run some tests to make sure I wasn't allergic to the new compound. The real test starts tomorrow."

"Let's hope she has the magic touch then. When we need to switch, Maggs will be ready."

Max stopped pacing, and looked at John, really looked at him. How much John could project in this dream and how much was an accurate representation of his true self, was lost to Max. He couldn't dreamwalk. He didn't have the faintest idea what it took to do it, much less how it worked.

"John? Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, willing John to be serious for once. He couldn't take the evasions much longer.

John chuckled at that. "You worry too much, you know that, right?"

"You're the closest thing to family I've got. If anything happens to you, not only will I lose you, your wife will, too."

John didn't lose his smile, but it did become thoughtful. Finally, John stood up and placed a comforting hand on Max's shoulder.

"Max, I don't expect you to understand, but when I left this place— I left a lot of ghosts when I ran away the day you were born. Yes, I'm doing this for you, but I'm also doing it for me, okay? Now, my wife will kill me if they kill me first, but don't worry about her. Worry about Parker."

"What? Why? Do they suspect—"

"Relax, Max. Worry about your doctor stealing your heart away. It happened to me, you know."

Max woke up to the smell of coffee and the feeling that John enjoyed this a little bit too much.


	34. Trials

_August 8th, 2011 – Day 1760 and counting_

The thing about trials is that they get your hopes up.

I don't want hope, I want answers. I want out. I want to leave all this behind, even if it means never listening to Whitman's snores, or waking up to Parker's coffee.

I just want to stop worrying about everything all the time.

And I really, _really_ want this drug to work.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four  
Trials**

* * *

"Okay, if you feel anything at all…" Parker said for the third time, the needle half an inch above Max's arm.

"Parker. Either it works or it doesn't." He locked eyes with her, and they both nodded in unison. When the needle pierced his skin, he closed his eyes. Closed his mind to everything but the feel of the fluid entering his blood torrent.

Eight months of work were condensed in that vial. Eight months of sneaking out, of Starbucks, of nightmares and dreams of freedom.

_This is only the first trial. Nobody gets it right at the first trial._ He'd been telling himself that all night long so when the trail failed—and he had no doubt it would—the weight of disappointment wouldn't crush him.

Parker's substitute drug was meant to gradually ease him out of the addiction. By her calculation, he would need twelve more doses spaced out in six months for his body to be free. If it worked, Maggs would provide the rest of Parker's drug and give it to him before each of Frank's doses. A small part of him was warming up to the idea of working out his cover and disappear.

"How are you feeling?"

Max thought for a moment, his mind going over every inch of his body trying to find something off.

"Fine. I don't feel anything."

She nodded.

"Let's give it an hour before I take a sample and see how you metabolize it, okay?"

"Sure, okay…"

It was barely 6:12 a.m. and Max already felt time crawling, each second an eternity. He had to do something. Maybe run, maybe read. Maybe ask Parker if she had any intentions regarding his heart.

_Where did _that_ come from?_

"Guys… guys! GUYS!" Whitman shouted from his corner. "I'm in!"

"We're barely awake and he's already hacked into the base's security?" Max asked, perplexed.

"I let it run a subroutine all night long," Whitman answered, all grins and sparkly eyes. "Anyway, we can follow John through his day and… woa!"

Max was out of the stool and in front of Whitman's screen in two seconds flat. On the screen, a dozen views of security cameras were displayed. Max's eyes scanned them in search of what could possibly be what Alex had seen. He found it on the eighth screen.

"Is he doing... I mean, is he working with sand?" Whitman asked as he zoomed into the exercise room. Behind them, Parker had joined their merry band.

"Yeah," Max answered, following John's movements with his hands. In front of John, a large amount of particles were moving. He was sculpturing something.

"I do this exercise from time to time. It's supposed to improve your tactile telekinesis." Whitman turned to look at him with a confused look. "It means a very fine-tuned telekinesis. Think of it like writing. When you start, your handwriting is rough. Child-like. But with time, you get better at it. It's the same with telekinesis. Rough telekinesis will get you to move a car. But this... This will get you to do stuff like dismantling weapons or open complex safeguard boxes.

"He's doing a dog," Parker said, getting closer to the screen.

"I can only do geometrical structures. You have to account for each grand of sand, which is not fun to do. The more sand, the more chances something will slip through your grasp."

"Your imaginary hands," Whitman said with appreciation.

"John is light years ahead of what I can do. It's amazing."

"But, wouldn't this be problematic once you're back at the lab?" Parker asked. Max winced.

"Probably... We never really discussed how advanced he was versus where I am. He must be assuming I'm closer to his level than I actually am. Summers must be in heaven."

"That's the guy who makes your life hell, right?" Parker said, still looking at the screen. John's dog was transforming itself into a snake.

_How appropriate_, Max thought, imagining Summers and his merry band.

"So I guess you'll need to practice more," Whitman said, turning to look at Max with a wicked grin.

An hour later, Max's shirt was soaked in sweat while Parker and Whitman sat in front of him, debating the merits of his latest sculpture.

"I think it's a bunny," Parker stated, while Max's concentration reached its limit. Keeping the sand stuck together was getting mighty impossible. He shook his head. "Like the one I had when I was a kid," she said with a fond smile. Max shook his head.

"What about a raccoon?" Whitman asked. Max glared at him.

"An elephant?" Whitman corrected. The entire sand sculpture crashed into the table.

"An _elephant_?" Max asked, bewildered.

"You know, from _The Little Prince_."

"Who?"

"It's a book," Parker said, writing something on her clipboard, reminding him of Frank. "A children's book which has a lot of meaning if you read it as an adult as well." She was thoughtful for a moment, and then started to blush.

"What?"

"It's about an aviator who finds a kid in the desert," Whitman said, his bright eyes suddenly becoming brighter. "And the kid is actually an alien!"

"You're making this up," Max deadpanned, while Whitman passed him a towel.

"No, you can Wiki it. The thing is, the aviator makes a drawing of a snake eating an elephant, but everyone on his childhood thought it was a hat."

"So... you thought I was aiming for that?"

"I thought it was worth a try." Whitman grinned.

"I wasn't. It was supposed to be... something else."

"What?" Parker asked.

"What John was doing. Which I obviously failed at miserably. How am I supposed to switch back and keep Summers happy?"

The three of them fell silent, looking at the pile of sand. "Want to go at it again?" Parker asked.

"Okay, but this time, don't be so creative with your answers."


	35. Card Game

_Journal Entry #17, August 8th, 2011_

The thing about having max around is that it gives me time to see him without him being so guarded. Before, when his visits were just a few minutes every other week, it was all business as usual, and he was always talking with this tone. And being so secretive. And, you know, being Max.

But now that I have him for myself for a few days, he just can't hide who he is anymore.

And frankly, I'm liking his true self a whole lot more than his doorframe self.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five  
Card Game  
**

* * *

"Okay, so, I found out about these cards," Alex said with all the enthusiasm in the world, while Thai food take-out disappeared between the three of them. Max looked tired but happy, since he'd finally managed to do the dog _and_ the raccoon by the end of the afternoon.

"What cards?" he asked while opening his third Cherry Coke.

"These psychic cards? They have lines and stars and circles—"

"God, not _those_ cards!" Max said with dismay.

"What? Why?" Liz asked, her fork midway to her mouth. "What's so special about them?"

"They're supposed to demonstrate you're capable of mind-reading," Alex explained. "On one end, I have the cards, and I randomly pick one. On the other, you have the cards, and you have to pick the one I'm seeing."

"Or just tell the base what he's seeing. You don't need a second deck," Max added.

Liz turned to look at Max, suddenly remembering some very inappropriate thoughts she'd had about his biceps, his leader jacket, and his body in general. Granted, he usually wasn't around when she had those thoughts, but still.

"I can't read minds," Max said, stabbing his food. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, but I just can't."

"Are you sure?" Alex asked innocently. Both Max and Liz glared at him. "I'm just saying. John has all these powers you're not aware of."

"John is fifteen years older than me. Surely he's had a lot of practice."

"I'm just saying, maybe you should try harder. Or, you know, maybe it just needs—"

"It won't work," Max stated. "Summers has me tried this before, all the time. I always end up with a murderous headache and feeling stupid."

"Okay, okay. Forget I brought them up. How about that dreamwalk thing?"

"What about it?"

"Have you been practicing that?"

"I don't know how it works. John hasn't sat down with me and explained the wonders of our alien heritage, you know."

"I think we should try it," Liz said, getting the last of her food into a corner of the Thai box.

"Dreamwalking seems light years to where I am."

"I was talking about the cards, actually."

Max and Alex stopped eating.

"I mean, what's the harm in trying? Maybe you're just missing something." She shrugged. She'd never seen anything like what Max could do, and her scientific mind had been buzzing all day long about how Max could do what he could do. Of course, if someone like this Frank person had been studying him for years and years and still had not advanced much, she was hopeless in getting those answers in the space of twelve hours.

She also wanted to encourage Max. He looked rather gloomy every time something reminded him of his limitations. Seeing John do those sand sculptures seemingly effortlessly had to hurt his ego.

_Maybe nothing will come out of this, but then again..._

Twenty minutes later, an eager Alex had printed and cut the cards, and was shuffling them in an awkward manner. They were too thin, but that didn't stop their computer genius.

"Okay, here goes nothing," Alex said with a grin, picking one card and staring at it. Max stared at Alex. Between them, Liz started her watch to see how long it would take for Max to see something— or give up.

Two minutes into the exercise, Max finally lowered his sight. "I can't see a thing."

"That's okay. Want to try again?" Alex asked.

"It won't work."

"How about if we try it with fewer cards?" Liz asked.

"It would skew the answer. Chance alone will always play a part."

"I know, I know, but maybe if you only have three cards to narrow it down..."

Three minutes later, Max's shoulder slumped. "It's useless. If John can actually read minds, I'll kill him."

"Liz, you try it. Maybe the problem all this time is that he's been trying to pick a guy's brain," Alex joked. Max frowned.

"I've done this with other women," he said while Liz took Alex's place.

Picking one card, Liz got the star. In her mind, she concentrated on that. Five points, a star, night. Five points, star, night. Five points, star, night. With that chanting on her mind, she stopped looking at the card and looked directly at Max. The intensity in his eyes was devastating. Forget about the star, all she wanted was to _sigh_.

Blinking a moment later, she tried to recall what she was supposed to be thinking. _A star_. Right... keep it clear, Parker, or he´ll see a bunch of little hearts instead.

Thirty seconds later, Max gave up. "I can't see anything. It'll be easier for me to want to change the figure on the card than actually reading your mind." He yawned then, all his intensity gone. "I think I better call it a day. Thank you for trying, though."

"Hey, it's not every day someone is trying to read my mind," Alex said with two thumbs up. He looked exactly as he had back in High School, all wonder and optimism. She loved Alex to pieces.

_And what do you know, I think saying 'thank you' is becoming an everyday occurrence from Mr. Dark and Edgier._

They picked up the cards, cleaned up the lab, and closed the door. And the best part was that she wasn't going home alone.


	36. House

_August 9th, 2011 – Day 1761 and counting_

Parker and Whitman are the most cheerful people in the world. And that's a bit creepy.

I've done these things a million times, but it's always routine. It's always pushing myself to my limits, getting myself out of my comfort zone. With them, everything is a wonder. All of my powers are a source of awe. They look at me not with fear but with a sense of the impossible becoming possible. Even when I fail, they both have starry eyes.

In truth, I kinda feel like a celebrity around them. All they want is to help me improve. But more than that, I think they also want me to have fun. And I find myself liking this idea more and more.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six  
House**

* * *

It was the third and last day for Max before the switch back, and he was getting nervous as hell. On the screen, John was doing another one of his incredibly complex tasks: a house card. Or rather, a nine stories tall house card.

"Why, oh why, does he have to show off?" Max said, all his energy gone. There was no way in hell he could replicate that. By his side, Parker watched with interest.

"He's cheating," she said simply, leaning back on her seat.

"I highly doubt it."

"No, I mean. He's building the house with his mind, obviously, but he's also holding the cards together with telekinesis. He's not placing the cards and letting them go, sort of speak."

Max frowned. "Just like the sand."

Liz nodded. "I think it's the same principle. If you can work with the sand, this should be a piece of cake."

"Okay... Okay, that makes sense." Max said, nodding to himself. "Is there any chance you have a deck of cards around?"

Liz shook her head. "No... But there is something I do have tons of."

Thirty minutes later, a bead of sweat ran down Max's cheek, but he did not dare to wipe it out. Parker's idea of working with glass test tubes had been brilliant in a perverse way. If Max let them fall, they would break. And he so not wanted to spend the next hour mending test tubes.

By now, he had built an impressive crystal palace, sort of a fortress of solitude, really, with the tubes in diagonal position. Right now, he was joggling thirty-six tubes, and Parker had another two on her hands.

"Tell me when you're ready," she said, holding them close to him.

"I think I've just reached my limit," he said through clenched teeth, his shirt soaked in sweat.

"Okay, well, thirty-six is pretty impressive for being your first time," Parker said with a smile, starting to pick the tubes at the top. Except she couldn't unglue them. "Max, you have to let them go."

"I don't think I can let one go without losing the entire structure," he said with dismay. He was gripping all of them, so he had no sense where one began and the other separated.

"Ok-ay..." Parker said, stumped. "How about you let them down slowly?"

"Maybe... yeah, I think I can do that."

On the monitor, John had stopped doing the house as well. It had probably sixteen floors and counted somewhere around two hundred cards. He barely glimpsed at it behind Parker, before returning to the task at hand.

At the bottom, the tubes started to lower. Piling the second floor against the first was tricky. The changing structure was now unstable by any account, and his mind was having trouble keeping each tube connected.

"I'm going to lose it," Max warned, concerned.

"Don't worry. I have boxes and boxes of the things."

Frank's words would have been, _No, you won't_. This new carefree approach was too weird for him and his sense of never-lose, always-win. He managed the third floor without breaking them, but the forth crackled under the pressure of his mind. He was gripping them too tight, and realized it too late. In an extraordinary sequence, the upper tubes collectively broke into a million shards of glass, raining on Max and Liz as they both closed their eyes.

"Parker!" he yelled, the whole table and floor filled with shards and tubes. Parker had raised her clipboard to protect herself, while Max kept them at bay with telekinesis alone.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she said, lowering the clipboard.

"I'm so sorry about that," he said, looking at her clipboard, her face, her neck. Her lips. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah... I don't think we thought about the glass breaking this way."

"Once I had less tubes to hold on to, the energy crushed the rest... Are you really sure you're okay?"

"Max. I am. Stop worrying. Are _you_ okay?"

"Yes, yes. I'm always okay, I'm good." They both turned to look at the pile of debris.

"I'll get the dustpan," Parker said, getting up.

"You've seen me play with sand and these tubes and you don't think I can do a good job of cleaning up?" he asked, faking offense.

"By all means, keep practicing," she said with a smile.

He looked at the mess and went through his options. He could melt it, fused it, and trash it; make the tubes whole again, make _some_ of the tubes whole again and trash the rest.

He extended his hand, then, choosing what he wanted to do. Out of the tiny fragments of glass, he called them and hold them together, a clear image in his mind. To his surprise, he could actually manipulate all the tiny pieces into the shape he wanted, and Parker gasped as she realized what he was doing.

"It's a bunny," she whispered with awe.

"Let me see if I can fuse it together, all right?"

An hour later, all cleaned up, Parker had a crystal bunny sitting on her lab, while the three of them had their last lunch together.


	37. Colleagues

_Journal Entry #18, August 9th, 2011_

Seeing Max go is one of the hardest things I've ever done. He's going back to being a lab test. Worse, he's going back to being used. And I think, for the first time, he's also realizing who he really is.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven  
Colleagues**

* * *

The strangest thing about seeing John crossing that door was how un-Max he looked. He had the same features, the same clothes, but his whole body language betrayed him a mile away. _How did you fool anybody at that base?_

Maggs came in a moment later, her clever eyes missing nothing. The lab hours had been over for a while now, leaving its premises for Alex, Max and herself to play with.

_Is 'Maggs' a last name or a first name_? Liz wondered absently, holding the results of Max's bloodwork in her hands.

"Liz," John said with his infectious smile, one that she hoped against hope Max could grace her with. She'd managed a few small smiles and one or two chuckles, but Max being Max, that was monumental. And here John was, grinning at the slightest provocation.

"Everything went okay?" Liz asked, while Alex and Max exchanged a handshake.

"There were a few awkward moments," Maggs said pointedly to John, "but he's fast on his feet. You were always a good liar," she said as an afterthought.

John bowed. "And it's been handy all these years, thank you."

Maggs rolled her eyes, and then looked at Liz. "What do you have?"

With that, Max and John went to their corner, while Alex excused himself. Being around Max had been fun, but work had piled up for both of them. Liz suppressed an inward groan at the thought.

"How is he?" Maggs asked the moment they had some privacy.

"Bloodwork seems to indicate that—"

"Not that. How's Max?"

"I—I don't think I'm following you," Liz said, the results in her hands forgotten.

Maggs sighed, trying to find the right words. "At the risk of sounding like a soccer mom, did he have fun?"

Liz's smile came slowly as she realized the implications of Maggs' question. She nodded.

"I think he did. I mean, it's hard to tell, but… yeah. He always seems so—tense."

"Like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders," Maggs said, nodding slightly. "I know what these four years have cost him. Frank is so used to seeing him daily that he doesn't realize the gradual change. How quiet he's become about everything. How much he fears to disappoint him. But I do. I only see Max every once in a while, so I get to be objective about that." Maggs glanced at John and Max. Even from this distance, the differences were so obvious to Liz they were painful.

_If only I could get you to drop that rainy cloud of yours!_

"At first," Maggs said, "I thought it was the drug. But the answer was far much simpler: he's miserable. He might not admit it to himself, but he is."

_That… actually makes a lot of sense. _

"He's a good guy," Liz said, absently turning to look at him. Or rather, his back. "I don't think he slept much, though."

"When you live with the fears he does, you might find out sleeping at night is not easy. Now, let's get down to business. What do you have for me?"

For the first time since Liz had looked at Max's blood under the microscope one cold January night, she had someone to talk to. Someone who understood. Someone who was actually telling her what she'd been doing wrong and how to correct it. And for the first time, she realized how liberating it was to share this secret. To share the burden of freeing Max not of that base, but of this drug. And she was damn proud of her work.


	38. Behind

_August 9th, 2011 – Day 1761 and counting_

I don't want to go back.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight  
Behind**

* * *

"You're slacking," John told him as they both sat down with Starbuck cups on their hands. On the other side of the lab, Parker talked with Magss, trying to get a sense of where his blood tests stood.

"I'm not. I have a good list of successfully neutralized targets to prove it."

"You're slacking on your powers. No wonder Summers is so frustrated with you. Frank requires of you the minimum necessary to be useful, but your stats have not improved in _four years_."

"I know, okay?" Max said, feeling himself going defensive. The cup in his hand was in serious danger of being crumpled. "I know what you can do, and that I'm not at your level."

John raised his eyebrows, and then realization dawned on him. "Whitman is good if you were following me around the base. But that's beside the point. You need to work harder because when we both escape, I'll need you at your best. And right now, you're not at your best."

They both stared at each other for a moment. It was unsettling beyond anything to see his own image in John. "I need you to teach me."

"I wish there was time. It's all about being creative with your powers, and for what I've seen, they tell you what to do. They don't allow you to make your own tests, see what else you can do."

_Is that what Parker and Whitman have been doing all this time?_

"Samuel always knew how to get me thinking about what I could do. He's angry at Frank for holding you back, and frankly, I'm not sure why he's doing that. I didn't dare to coax a flash out of him. These past three days I've been solely with Summers and he should be plenty happy with the results he has now. Next time you're in his tender hands, ask him for some space. A day or two to get your thoughts together. But Max, when you do go back to his lab, you better have something in mind."

"Yes, sir," he mockingly said under his breath.

"How was the drug Liz worked on? You feeling any effects?" John asked with far more kindness.

"We won't really know until I get my fix later today. The results came back as she expected, but I'm not feeling any improvement. She thinks it might take a few months."

"I wish we could keep switching back and forth for a few months. Maggs will get the exact formula. With Liz's drug, she'll be able to supply both, and you won't have to come back here."

"That's... good." Max turned for a second to watch Parker and Maggs talking. _No more sneaking around… _"Can we trust Maggs?" he whispered, getting back to John.

"She carries a lot of guilt, you know? We knew each other, from before you were hatched. She was brought into the program to be your doctor along with Frank, but she wanted to work with Samuel first to get a good idea of what working with a hybrid was. She never saw me as an alien. Samuel has always seen me as potential, something to further his career and his understanding. But Maggs... she used to tell me the stupidest alien jokes. Of course, she tried to keep her distance, and I knew I wouldn't see much of her once you were awake, but we had a healthy dose of respect for each other."

Their talk got technical after that. What had John done, who he had met, what he'd said. Max concentrated on learning it all, asking questions, memorizing conversations, delaying leaving as much as he could.

All too soon, he had to say his good-bye to John, a handshake with Whitman, and another one with Parker. She tried to hide her apprehension, but although he didn't get any flashes out of her beyond the crystal bunny on her office, he did pick up her sorrow at seeing him leave. _At seeing me leave to that place_ he corrected. If only she knew how much he wanted to stay with her.

_And Whitman_, he hastily added to that thought.

"You look… different," Maggs commented as they went on their journey back, a journey Max had done countless times since he'd started stalking Parker on her office last year.

"I do?" he asked absently, looking out the window.

"Younger," Maggs said, looking at the road. "More relaxed."

Max chuckled darkly at that.

"Right."

"Not right now, true. You should look more relax if you want to fool Frank, but... you know, when I went to talk with Parker. You looked younger, that's all."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"I don't want to go back," Max confessed, closing his eyes at the absurdity of his words. Of course he had to go back.

"John has managed to get Samuel on high spirits. You might find his friendliness... strange."

"Summers? Friendly?" Max asked, turning to look at her with concern in his face. "Is that like, a sign of the end of days or something?"

Maggs smiled. "They always got along pretty well. I guess John felt the familiar patters fitting in, and forgot all about how much you hate being around Samuel."

"I... I kind of fear what John did in my place. Was it too different?"

"John... John has a very practical sense of things, and he did a good job of acting your part. He's just... well, he was upset when he learned how little you have advanced in four years. I was pretty amazed at what he can do. He asked me why we had held you back, but the truth is Max, we haven't. We truly believed we were doing everything there was to get you up."

"Following things by the rules... Parker told me John had discovered a few things thanks to his wife."

"Motivation," Maggs murmured, her eyes still on the road. She always drove with her two hands on the wheel, never over the speed limit. She'd told him once it was because of all the secrets she carried, being stopped over for speeding would be the last straw. Then she had laughed, and Max had never asked again.

"I don't know if motivation is the key. I... I did a few things with Parker I'd never done on my own. Maybe, you know, thinking outside the box would help?"

Maggs smiled at that with a rather dark smile. "Help with what? Escaping? Because, I kind of like the sound of that."

They drove in silence for a few miles, each lost on their own thoughts.

"What would—I mean, what would happen to you once I'm gone?"

"Desk work, most likely. I have a ton of research to apply, too. You might not know, but in your genes, there's a lot of potential for the human genome. I've been mostly doing research on your aging process, while Frank has centered on the neural paths."

Max nodded. "Something good will come out of my life, then," he said, looking straight ahead as the base loomed in the horizon. Maggs slowed down.

"Max, _great_ things have come out of your life already. Never think differently."

"I kill people, Maggs. I spy, and steal, and lie. Maybe it's wrong that I wish to be out of this place. Maybe that's exactly where someone who does my work belongs."

Maggs's face turned grim. "Tell that to John next time you see him. In fact, tell that to Dr. Parker after she's been risking her own life to help you."

"I—I didn't mean it like that... I'm just saying, it seems like all I'm good at is doing dirty jobs."

"We did a terrible thing to you, Max," Maggs said quietly. "But I'm going to right this whole thing, you hear me? Even if it's the last thing I do."

They both looked at each other with serious expressions, and as one turned to look at the soldier at the base entrance with matching smiles.

"Welcome back Doctor. Mr. Evans."

He was back. And for the first time, he didn't think of this place as home.


	39. Frenemies

_August 10th, 2011 – Day 1762 and counting_

For the first time, I walk through these halls knowing I won't be seeing them for much longer. And the feeling is intoxicating.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine  
Frenemies**

* * *

"I don't know what they put on those coffees you're so fond of drinking," Summers said with a grin that was completely out of place in that man's face, "but damn, I hope you're drinking more."

Max tried to smile, but it felt forced. Too forced. So he settled for a nod.

He'd gotten his fix yesterday, and nothing had happened. Maggs had come to his room around midnight to take his blood and work on it. He hadn't seen her since, but he dreaded hearing that Parker's first trial hadn't worked. He so desperately wanted to get out of here, that he almost preferred Maggs lying to him than knowing it was back to zero with the whole thing.

"So, I was thinking that now that you have the sand exercises down we might change to water," Summers said, rubbing his hands together as if he were a mad scientist ready to bring Frankenstein to life.

"Water?"

Water meant a whole new level of mental concentration. He would not be dealing with a solid target. Dealing with liquids was so out of his league, he felt lightheaded.

"Yes. I know it was only yesterday that you got your dose," Summers said. It also meant this was Max's day off. He was here just to ask for the next day off as well, per John's recommendation.

"I think you might be thinking too big, here," Max said, trying to smile, not knowing if he was failing or not.

"Nonsense. You've been jumping in quantum leaps these past days!"

"Yeah, about that," Max started. "I think I need a longer break. The things I've accomplished are… good—"

"You mean great!"

"Yeah, sure, great. But I feel drained. I'm afraid that I'll need my fix sooner rather than later if we keep at this level."

That gave Samuel's pause. He was not happy with not having Max all to himself 24/7, but surely the idea of having less of Max was motivation enough for him to relax.

"You think so?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. This was probably the longest conversation Max had had with the man in which he was not yelling at him, or passive-aggressive telling him he was not giving him the best. It was weird, but having Summers's sudden trust was priceless.

"For the last four days all I've been doing is mental exercises. I think I want to hit the gym. Do something physical for a change."

Summers nodded slowly at that, as if he were seeing one giant equation that was making sense bit by bit. "Okay, okay... The gym, huh? I do have enough data right now to keep us busy for a couple of days."

"Good. Then, that's settled." Max turned around to reach the door.

"Max," Summers said, stopping him on his tracks, "When you come back, we'll do more great work together."

Twenty minutes later, Max was hitting the punching bag with a vengeance. He hated this place; he hated Summers; he hated _John_ for putting him in this position of BBF with the man he loathed the most in his life. _How could John have been friends with that psycho?!_

Max felt, more than saw, when Frank came into the room. That was new, he usually didn't sense anyone coming to him. _Might be so much mental gymnastics. I _might _be getting better at things now that I've been practicing so much._

"You look… intense," Frank commented as Max finished a vicious beating to the bag.

"I've missed being down here, that's all," he said, sweat breaking on his forehead.

"Max..." Frank started, while Max slowed down and easer his attack on the blue bag. "These days, with Summers…" Frank paused, leaning on the wall in front of Max, "You've improved."

Max stopped his punching, and straightened slowly, gathering his thoughts. He'd known the unspoken question would come sooner or later: _how?_ "It seems stupid, really," Max answered, looking at the bag and then at Frank. "I'm terrified that one of these days he'll get tired of me not doing more... of not getting better... I don't know, I woke up with that fear knowing I had screwed up with the flashes, and suddenly things made sense inside my head. I don't know where I'm getting these ideas, really, but as long as Summers's happy, everyone's happy, right?"

He delivered he's prepared speech so smoothly he surprised even himself. Ever since he'd left Parker he'd been wondering how long it would take Frank to ask.

"I see... I know we've been doing a lot of the same tests for a long time," Frank said, his hands on his pockets. "I just wish I had thought about asking you if you had more ideas about doing... things."

Max nodded, hitting the bag once more, resuming his fighting position. "We've been so focused on fine-tuning my skills to get the missions completed, it wouldn't have worked. We just... stripped everything that wasn't necessary. On the bright side, I'm really, really good at getting my targets and getting back alive."

Frank smiled sadly at that, while Max hit harder with every passing word.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I mean, it's no secret that working with Summers makes you uncomfortable—"

"—you can say that again, it never gets old—"

"—but, I don't know. The past few days you've seemed... relaxed around him."

Max chuckled humorlessly at that. "I'm trying to impress him and to praise you for your work with me, I'm glad it looks like I'm enjoying every minute of that hell."

Frank stared at him for a long moment, watching him move, strike, hit, and occasionally kick the bag.

"Of course. It was just weird, for a moment there... you just fooled me, I guess. So, what's this I'm hearing that you'll get a few more days off?"

"I guess wonders never cease. I'm just mentally wiped-out. A day or two at the gym seemed like a good idea to get away from Summers _and_ do something productive."

"Alrighty then. I'll see you at lunch."

Frank left, and Max punched the bag two more minutes before stopping and glancing at the door. Frank had suspected something was off. Maybe switching hadn't been such a good idea after all.


	40. The Other Side

_Journal Entry #19, August 10th, 2011_

I'm not sure what is worse: if before when I had no idea what was going on with Max and his life, and he would disappear for weeks on end; or now, when I know exactly what's going on with his life, and I might still not see him for weeks on end.

I don't know what to do. I keep running tests, keep getting busy with work. But at some point Alex will have to leave, and so will John. We're just tight with anticipation. Even if my counter-drug works, it will be months before Max is free. I'm pretty sure if this is a failure, if we can't get Max out of there soon, something drastic will have to happen.

I just wish I knew what.

* * *

**Chapter Forty  
The Other Side**

* * *

"Yeah, I wasn't aware of a few things with the contract," John said to his cellphone on her office, talking to his wife. "I'll settle things down here, dine with a few people, miss the hell out of you," he added with a mischievous smile in his voice. Whoever Mrs. Herschel was, she was one lucky woman.

"Yes, yes, I won't forget that. Just promise me you won't chew out your new assistant's head. It's not his fault if he doesn't understand your over-complex mind." This time, his tone seemed to indicate he was serious. "No, no. I'm not letting myself starve, 'mom'. What is it with women thinking we men cannot hunt down and kill our own food? Half of me is a caveman, remember?"

There it was again, that grin that Liz yearned to see in Max. _How can they share their genes and yet be so different? Heck, they even had the same childhood for what they've told me._

The eternal dilemma of nurture versus nature was at the back of her mind when John said _I love you_ on the phone with a tenderness that spoke of an equally yearning for being home. Liz sighed.

"When was the last time you guys were together?" she asked when he came out. Outside, everyone was enjoying a late summer day except them. It was already 8:00 p.m. and they were perpetually at her lab.

"I think a month now," he said, thoughtful. "Well, more like 1 month, 6 days and 19 hours, that sort of thing," he said sheepishly. She smiled.

"You must love her so much," she said, the romantic in her surfacing in a rather embarrassing way.

John nodded with a grin, absently reheating his coffee with a wave of his hand. Looking at hers, he did the same.

"Thank you."

"Sure. I do this all the time for her. She _loves_ to stay late at her lab. Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm nothing more than a glorified microwave," he said with a laugh.

"So… You just told her? Just like that?"

"Not exactly… The first time they gave me the drug I was 17. I _hated_ it. Samuel hated it, too."

"That's Summers, right? The guy Max doesn't like?"

"The one and only. It wasn't his idea, mind you. They argued I had access to classified information and was a national security threat just by existing. So they wanted me on a leash, and I quietly rebelled against it the second I could. And for the next four years I tried to adapt, failed, and escaped."

"Summers didn't know?"

"That I hated it? Yes. We had long talks about how to go around it. That I wanted to escape? Never. I wasn't an idiot. Instead, I took my desire to be free to the closest university I could fine. I was highly advanced in chemistry, so it wasn't out of my reach. _But_, I wasn't a student, so I had to fake a lot of ID's, and break-in to a few labs to get the equipment and the tests done."

"That's why you were stealing from her, right?"

"Yeah... She caught me getting creative with the lab equipment she was using for her own research. She... let's just say her softer side is very, very buried deep down."

"What did she do?"

"She called the campus police. I was out before they arrived, but after that day, she was always on the lookout for me, and I for her. She was the reason why I delayed my escaping a whole year, actually, until I heard they were going to get Max out of his pod. It became clear in that moment that I was staring at my window of opportunity. Either I left that day, or I was stuck there for the rest of my life. I had about three months to get ready, so I couldn't care less if she caught me at the lab. I was running out of time, and I could always outrun and outsmart the guards."

"Sounds exciting," Liz joked.

"It was rather stupid. I should have talked to her that first time, but…" John shrugged. "Anyway, when she caught me again, I was actually going through the first stages of withdrawal. I needed to see my blood reacting, as close as I could to my next dose. I think I scared her really badly that time. I left, of course, but my blood stayed there. She—She had a lot of questions the next time. I was running out of time and willing to take on any help. We talked, we planned, we worked together. Two months later, I was a free man."

"Two months?" Liz whispered, stuck in that part of the story. "She discovered the counter-drug in two months?" Talk about feeling incompetent.

"Hey, Parker. It was a different drug, and, no offense, she does have a brilliant mind."

"She doesn't know what you're doing here," Liz stated with a raised eyebrow.

"Let's just say that I still want to be married when all of this ends."

"Ha! Yes! I told him she didn't know!" Liz exclaimed, feeling the rush of victory.

"What are we talking about here?"

"Oh, sorry. Max said that you might be lying about having a wife. I told him you were probably doing this behind her back."

John winced. "You do realize that neither scenario speaks well of me, right?"

"Well, aren't you? I mean, doing this without your wife knowing?"

"_Touché_. She risked a lot to get me to safety. We were so young, but despite that little communication problem, we weren't stupid. She left the physics department and changed majors into biology so we could get a clue about me. As her research went deeper, she started applying it to other problems. She's pretty amazing with puzzles, and she found a lot of missing pieces on my biochemistry."

Liz nodded, her mind filling with notes of her own research on Max. The possibilities of where she could go with that were endless. "She's incredible," she sighed, wishing she could meet her.

"You're not so shabby yourself, doctor" John said, saluting her with his coffee mug. She blushed. "It takes a special kind of courage to deal with Max, I'd say."

She smiled. "I—I don't think there goes a day that I don't ask myself why I didn't turn him away, you know? He showed up, all arrogance and with danger written all over his body... but then he had to do that with his blood."

"Do what?"

"Stabbed himself with a needle. And he said, 'if you're interested on what you see, I'll come back again.'"

"You could've not looked," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah. Because that's what scientist do: they don't look. Anyway, every single doctor in the world would give his right arm to see what I saw under that microscope."

"Most of them would have called the police, or the FBI. Someone. You were looking at non-human blood cells, and you kept it all to yourself. As I said, courage."

Liz bit her lower lip. "Maybe. I don't know. It sounded like I would get into a lot of trouble if I went public with it. But... you gotta admit, it would have been some story."

"Morning edition: Aliens among us! Hot guy with blood sample trashes millennia of preconceptions. Doctor says she couldn't keep the truth from the world anymore."

"Who couldn't keep the truth anymore?" Alex asked, coming into the lab with a late take-out. John grinned. "Your friend here, in an alternative universe."

"Oh, I like to play, too!" Alex said, settling the bag on the counter. "I like the one where I hack into top branches of national security to spy on alien experiments. Oh wait, I already do that…"

Liz threw him a pen and he expertly dodged it. He hadn't been a master dodge ball player for nothing.

"How did you find out about Max?" Liz asked, as the three of them dove for the containers and sodas.

"The internet," he said nonchalantly, producing his ever present Tabasco bottle. _Is that, like, another one of his alien powers?_ she mused. "Well, okay, not exactly. Through the years I've been placing flags around specific files. I could never find anything about Max specifically, but I found some of my own time there. And about four months ago, one of those flags went on. It was the first time I knew for sure Max was still alive. Still where I left him, too. That was one of the best days of my life."

"Wait, who triggered the flag?" Alex asked, serving himself a generous portion of Chinese food.

"A hacker who worked on a mission with Max. It took me a while to track him down, find the connection. He didn't get far, no one ever does with those files, but it was enough for me to know where I had to look."

"Talk about lucky." Alex said.

"Luck was finding this girl," John said, looking at Liz. "I started looking at facilities which could be useful, and found out a few labs in the area. When I saw what Liz here had been ordering, the equipment and the information, I suspected maybe Max had had the same idea I had twenty years ago: find a way out of the drug. But to be honest, I didn't know I would find Max's partner in crime around the corner."

Liz smiled while eating. "I never asked Max why he chose me. I mean, yeah, he told me I had the credentials and obviously I have the equipment, but... you know, why me?"

"He's a warm blooded male, Liz," John said with all certainty, "You're not exactly hard to look at."

This time, she threw a pen at him, and John received it right on his chest.

"I seriously doubt Max would place his future, his secret, and my life in jeopardy just because he thought I was pretty."

Maria's voice came somewhere at the back of her mind: _don't be so sure, girl. The guy has a point._

"You can ask him the next time he comes around. Hopefully on our way out of that place forever." John started to eat his food, pouring even more tabasco on it. Honestly, at some point it had stopped being gross and now was just a John thing.

"You know," Liz said, opening her Lipton tea, "If I did my job right, I'm never really going to see Max again. Maggs has my notes, she can take it from there or develop her own drug."

Sadness invaded her. Everything had happened so fast she had barely shaken hands with him and said good-bye. But what if that had been the last time she'd ever see him?

"You will tell us if you escape right?" she asked, suddenly needing reassurances that she would get to know Max's fate. "Max was very adamant that he would disappear one day and that I shouldn't worry about it. But," she paused, unsure of how to phrase her feelings, "he's my friend."

"I'll make him let you know," John said, toasting with his Cherry Coke, "or get my wife to do it. She can be crazy scary when it comes to that kind of thing."

"It's a promise," Liz said, looking straight at John.

She toasted with her own bottle and took a sip. John stared at her, or rather at her hand.

"What happened to your fingers?" he asked, getting a closer look by leaning on the table.

"Oh?" Liz asked, placing the bottle on the table and extending them. A dozen thin cuts aggravated both of her hands, a souvenir of Max's exploding test tubes yesterday. "It's nothing. They look worse than they actually are."

"It looks as if a cat had gone twelve rounds with you," Alex said, taking a look at her hands, too.

"Did Max say anything to you?" John asked, extending his hand so Liz could place hers in his.

"It wasn't his fault. He didn't even notice, really. _I_ didn't notice until later. It's nothing, really."

John took an even closer look, and then his hand glowed faintly. Warmth spread on her fingers, and the slight sting of the cuts went away.

"Do you know if he knows he can heal?" John asked, motioning with his hand for her to give him her other hand. She did, gladly.

"I... no... It didn't come up. I mean, we talked about how he doesn't get sick. And it threw me off for a while that his body would compensate for secondary effects so fast. But—no."

"I don't get the sense Max is one to share," Alex pointed out, while Liz examined her newly healed hands.

"I guess it's possible. My gosh, this brother of mine is going to be the death of me…"

"Don't say that!" Liz said, suddenly feeling very protective.

"She's got a point," Alex interjected. "Saying that is akin to saying 'what's the worst that can happen'. You just _know_ it's going to happen and it's not going to be pretty.

John smiled at that. "I love hanging with you two. Sci-fi savvy people are just the coolest to hang out when you're a walking, talking part of a sci-fi movie." John toasted. He could toast for just any reason, really, but it was infectious.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"Who else knows about you? I mean, besides your wife?"

"No one. No one outside the classified, for-your-eyes-only crap, of course. My wife found out and kept her mouth shut, thank God. There's never been a reason to tell anyone else. I don't get sick, so doctors are out of the equation."

"You'd never been to a hospital?"

"No. And I don't intent to start anytime soon."

"I bet she's awesome," Alex said, nodding. "How many people find about aliens and marry them?"

John grin at that, and toasted with Alex. "You're one hell of a smart guy." He got thoughtful then. "It's not always easy. We do have questions, all the time. I'm always looking over my shoulder, and I've done everything I can to ensure no one would trace me back to her if I'm ever captured back. But we have our ups and downs. I like that she knows who I am, but carrying this secret... it can be annoying sometimes."

For once, Liz could see the closest thing to a dark cloud over John's head, and it did not become him.

"How did you learn how to heal?" she asked out of the blue, eager to change subjects.

"Motorbike accident. I lost control of the bike on our way to our honeymoon. I panicked, largely because she panicked. I didn't know how to help her, and she didn't know how to keep me calm. Nowadays we find it funny, but right that instant… She said maybe if I concentrated at a molecular level, as in changing the molecular structure of things, it might happen. And it did. For the longest time we thought that was the basis of my 'healing' her, but with practice, I got further along. Now I can do it both ways. For some things, like a broken bone, molecular changing is far less energy consuming. But something like cancer would wipe me out cold for a whole day."

"Would be great if you could heal Max like that," Alex absently said, taking a big bite out of his food.

Liz's eyes went round, and as she turned to look at John, he was already shaking his head. "I can't cure addiction. Wounds, some diseases, sure. Addiction is beyond my skills."

"Have you ever tried?"

"I've tried similar things. I've had about 15 years of practicing and devising new ways to challenge me. It would sure be handy, though. Don't worry, Liz, your drug will work. Max will be free. Now, Alex, is there any dessert in this order, or am I going to have to pour sugar all over this?"

_Don't worry, he says. If only it were that easy._

* * *

**AN:** Hey guys! This is the last of the chapters I had ready, and now is back to write and edit for a couple of months. If you have any questions or suggestions or things you'd like to see, now is the time to let me know! And lastly, what's your fave part so far?_  
_


	41. John

_August 16th, 2011 – Day 1768 and counting_

Hope is a treacherous thing. It crawls into your heart, it storms in your stomach, it keeps you awake through long nights. It makes your hands sweat, your attention evaporate, your hunger fade.

Hope can keep a man going—or it can destroy him.

Every time I look at Maggs in the hall, all I want is for her to tell me, one way or another, if I'm going to be a free man or an eternal prisoner of this place.

I need to know if I should keep going—or just give up.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-One  
John  
**

* * *

"I have the results," Maggs said as Max sat beside her on a bench outside the main building. He'd been running around the base, and had _casually_ met Maggs as she was leaving. Just two friends catching up, away from prying cameras and unwanted ears.

"Okay, hit me."

"It's working."

Max's heart skipped a beat. His entire body froze. How could two words mean the world to him?

"The dose is off, and some other adjustments will be needed, of course. It's not a first trial for anything—"

"But it's working," Max whispered, looking straight at the road that led to the main entrance. Maggs nodded beside him.

"We'll have to readjust as we go, but yes."

He didn't know what to do. He wanted to shout out at the universe, he wanted to jump over the bench, to laugh hysterically until someone slapped him.

He wanted to go to Parker's lab and kiss her.

"It's working," he repeated, his eyes filling with tears for a moment, until he blinked them away.

"I might get the formula for your drug tomorrow, maybe the day after. You'll need both of them for a few months until your body is free of this thing. Lowering the dose might still give you a few side-effects, or even withdrawal symptoms."

"I don't care. Maggs, don't you see? I've been going step by agonizing step piecing together what I need to do to get free, and this is it. This is the final piece."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"What?"

"Frank asked one or two questions today."

"Oh, that. Yeah, he asked me, too."

"It's only natural. If anyone in this base knows you, it's us. John never knew Frank before as a friend, so he avoided him like the plague this time around. Maybe that tipped him off."

"He asked me about why all of the sudden I'm having this burst of energy on Summers's tests. I had to lie to him, but it wasn't easy."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Really?"

"Not how to lie," he amended, "but, you know, actually lying to him with an alibi that made sense. I don't like keeping things from him, I guess."

"Hmm…" Maggs looked at the building, her thoughts hidden away from Max's anxious mind. He wondered if he could get a flash from her—of if he wanted to.

"If Frank noticed the changes," she said, turning to look at him, "there's a good chance Summers will, too. He's too happy with you to have thought about it, but give him enough time…"

Max nodded. His days were numbered, one way or another. _Either I'm gone, or they'll lock me up so deep I won't even remember what the sky looks like. _

"I just wish John hadn't been so eager to please Summers," Max whispered, angry at the position his clone had left him in.

Maggs chuckled darkly at that. "He did it to hurry you up. He's a big believer in motivations—thanks to Summers, I'm afraid. The more you have to lose—"

"—the more you fight for it. I guess it's working, then."

"John did have a perverse sense about 'the means to an end'. It was funny when he was a kid. Not so much when he grew up."

Max turned to look at her, for the first time realizing he didn't know a thing about John. Not really. "He wasn't all sunshine and smiles all the time?"

She thought about it for a moment, narrowing her eyes at memories lost in time. "John always knew there was something off about his life. Always asking questions to catch his doctors in a lie. And he was so darn charming about it, they played along until he got them in a corner and they had to usher him to his room. _Cunning,_ that's what Frank called him from afar, laughing at how an eight-year-old could outsmart a bunch of PhDs in less than twenty minutes."

"So you knew John when he was a kid?"

"We knew of him, saw him on occasion from an observation deck. We still had you to worry about, and that was our main concern. We also needed to gain valuable insights on how to raise you, what to expect."

"What not to tell me," he said, looking at the sky. _How much different would I have turned out if they had told me the truth? If I had known I wasn't their creation but somebody else's? _

She nodded unapologetically. "And I don't regret it one bit. Telling John the truth only brought him… unhappiness, I guess. When he started developing all his skills, he also started to ask more pointed questions about why we didn't anticipate all his changes. He was a very frustrated twelve-year old, that's for sure. That's why Summers pushed to give John access to the ship and gave him access to all the information we had. It only backfired."

Whitman had showed him the videos about the ship, but Max had never really thought about seeing it. Was it here? Beneath his feet?

"Because he didn't find anything?"

Maggs laughed humorlessly. "On the contrary, he found _too_ much. John became obsessed with the ship for two years. Wanting to know, wanting to find the link between _them_ and us. He was thirteen and already drinking five cups of coffee so he could read a bit more, stay awake one more hour inside it. We had to limit his hours, get him to do something else. It was just unhealthy. He pieced together a lot of the schematics, mind you, and we had to practically drag him away from it—against the will of the entire Intelligence Department, even if by that point he hadn't found anything new for months."

"That's when you met him?"

"Yeah… We thought maybe new people in his life, new challenges would redirect his energy toward more practical uses. He still chose to spend a lot of his free time on the ship, but he knew his time was limited. Then he turned seventeen, and all of a sudden, he stopped caring about it."

"Just like that?"

Maggs smiled sadly, shaking her head. "He got something bigger to worry about. That was the year he was given his first shot."

"Motivations," Max said, sobering up. What better way to get John to focus on what they wanted than to dangle his weekly dose in front of him.

"We thought he'd become depressed. He had mood swings that you wouldn't believe. The day he left, I was convinced he was dead. A tiny part of me even wondered if maybe he had killed himself."

_That bad?_ Max asked with his eyes. This time, her smile was genuine. "John was _that _good at convincing us he was depressed enough to consider it. He told me all about it when he was here, how it was all part of his plan to leave. At the time, before John escaped, Summers even thought John was jealous of you. John—he's very good at making you believe one thing, when in reality he's doing another. A good magician, I guess."

"So you raised me differently so I wouldn't, what? Feel suicidal?"

Maggs looked straight at him, her hands on her lap. "We raised you so you wouldn't be curious about yourself. Special, yes, but ours. From our perspective, knowing his origins had led to John's disappearance and maybe death. It was devastating. I'm glad you know the truth now, at least as much as we know about it, but I don't regret withholding it from you all this time."

_Because I'm manageable this way?_

She placed her hand on his, cold and heavy. "You could have ended in the wrong hands, Max. You could have ended with having a half-life, locked away in a cell, that precious mind of yours never knowing anything but four walls. I'm so glad you grew up with us."

_She doesn't see it,_ Max thought, as Maggs's words trailed and became a comfortable silence. _She truly thinks I'm lucky to be raised here. _

He kept the thought to himself. He couldn't blame her, he'd believed the exact same thing for most of his life. The true irony was that she didn't even realize how wrong her hands had been all along.

* * *

**AN:** I'm back! Well, not daily back, but I'll be posting soon the next few chapters :)


	42. Mission

_August 22nd, 2011 – Day 1774 and counting_

Sometimes the Universe is out to get you. Everything is a disaster waiting to happen. Nothing you do goes well. Even staring at the ceiling seems like the end of the world if you look at it wrong.

And then there are days—days when every single molecule in the world sings to you. Days when you're spared Samuel Summers's smiling face and impossible tests.

Days when Frank wakes you up to put you on a plane to the middle of nowhere, and you love it.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Two  
Mission**

* * *

Max had no idea how Frank had managed to pull it off, but he was in a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean, half a mind going through the brief he'd just read, the other half weighing the merits of escaping to this exact location. He could so get used to the view.

The whole thing felt like a celebration of sorts: Maggs was getting closer to a perfect dose. Summers was literally half a world away. No one knew about Parker. John would help him out once he escaped.

His fingers tingled with excitement. He couldn't even suppress the tiny smile that graced his lips. The last time he'd been this happy had been eons ago.

He was here "working", of course. In two days, he would be risking his life to get some top priority information out of a man who had more bodyguards than Parker had formulas. The whole thing had to be orchestrated with precision down to the second. Even his "tricks" would not be enough if all hell broke loose.

_Wouldn't it be ironic that I'd be this close to be free just to die here?_

"Evans," his commander said by way of good-night.

By the corner, their hacker stared at him without shame. She was a tiny blond with green eyes and a mouth like a sailor's. She'd certainly kept the conversation lively for the past twelve hours.

"What?" he asked at last, giving in.

"I have a colleague who got a fucking warning for nosing around your files," she said without blinking, measuring him like prey. "Some classified shit on a level no one even knew existed."

_So that hacker did go after my files, _Max thought, his eyes back to the sea. Even at night, its presence was soothing.

The first time he'd seen the ocean, he'd been fourteen. The sight, the sheer volume of it, had left him feeling tiny—a lesson in humility if ever he'd had one. The smell was different here, but the memory lingered.

"I have half a mind to do some digging there myself, what do you say? You gonna set the dogs on me, too?"

"If you compromise this mission in search of ghosts, it won't be pretty," Max replied quietly.

"What are you, fucking dead?" she asked, cracking her knuckles, ready for a challenge.

Max chuckled. "It's more like I was never even born."

She blinked. Blinked again, clearly trying to figure out where the catch was. She shrugged after a second, and stood up, walking to him. "A little birdie sent me footage of you entering through the impossible door. How did you do it?"

That described half the missions he ever participated in. She was probably talking about the mission with the hacker, a blurry memory in his mind by now. He remembered the hacker himself, of course, the fear of what would happen if he got to his files, the helplessness at not being able to stop him.

"I don't remember," he said honestly, not that she knew it. She raised an eyebrow. "I go on five different missions a month, you think I keep track of each one in my head?"

She pouted, her shoulders slouching. "You're not fun. Every time I bring up the fact that none of us has a clue of how you're going to make it to the target's computer, the Commander shuts me up. As if I was fucking cursing us by saying your name! You know what that brings? Distrust, pal. Complete and utter distrust."

This was a new version of an old argument. He didn't tell them what he did, just to get him to the place to do the job.

"Well, if you must know, I have alien powers that allow me to use telekinesis to disable the cameras and open the doors; a little bit of molecular manipulation to change clothes and pass through fingerprint and retinal scanners; and a few creative techniques to gather the information we need from the computer. Though on this particular mission, my job is mainly patching you up to the satellite once I'm in, so the rest is not really in my skill set. You do get to play."

They stared at each other, the sound of the sea suddenly loud.

She threw a punch that connected with his shoulder with shocking force. "Idiot," she spat, turning around and stalking to her computer. Rubbing the sore spot, he turned to the view.

_And they say the truth would set you free…_


	43. Shadow of Thought

_August 27nd, 2011 – Day 1779 and counting_

Some things I will never miss: the sudden orders to drop everything and get on a mission. The intense briefing. The adrenaline of hunting down and eliminating your target. The long way home.

And some things never get old: like stopping at my favorite Starbucks—or visiting my favorite doctor.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-three  
Shadow of Thought**

* * *

The Starbucks clerk smiled at him with a bright smile. He smiled back at her, an action followed by badly stifled giggles from another female clerk in the far side. He'd been a regular for the most part of eight months now, so his face was well known around this place.

_That's actually a first,_ it occurred to him while paying, realizing there was a place on Earth where people knew of his existence that didn't entail drugs, missions, and warfare.

_Parker's lab is like that, too_, the thought came at the same time he received his change, the girl smiling even broader when he left a five-dollar tip. The one piece of advice Frank had instilled in him was to tip properly. It made everyone around him happy, leading to better service and better atmosphere all around.

The smell of coffee was like an old friend, even if coffee hadn't been part of his life before last year, and it all had started so he could keep an eye on Parker, the surroundings, and his precious escape plan.

He sat down, his eyes eagerly searching for Parker's blue Honda. Sure enough, Max spotted Whitman's rental, right beside his doctor's car. A world of relief flooded him, and the taste of coffee added to the sweet moment.

The first time he'd come to this Starbucks, he'd asked for chocolate. The second time, for tea. Coffee didn't make an appearance until he'd started officially stalking Parker and her late hours at the lab. Then he'd needed to be awake after long hours of traveling and a world of aches all over his body threatened to send him to snooze. Coffee had been the means to an end, then.

He smiled. Saying all that out loud would surely land him on the creepy side of things. Never mind he'd done it to save his life, he'd _stalked_ the doctor, researched her, followed her every move as best as he could in the limited time he had. All from this Starbucks, all perfectly camouflaged. Even his internet searches had been courtesy of this wi-fi.

In truth, he owed this place big. Maybe he would try to leave a bigger tip next time. Maybe he would ask for his name to be placed on a plaque: _Max Evans was here_.

He contemplated carving his name on the table while he watched the last of the lab techs leave. Surely, Parker would stay behind, doing some research or other—maybe even waiting for him.

The thought brought another smile to his lips. For once he was not expected at the lab, Summers was not staring at him, and Parker was safe and around the corner.

By 6:00pm, no lights remained in the building except one: Parker's.

taking the cup with him, he crossed the familiar path and went up the equally familiar stairs. Not so long ago, he'd been walking these halls like an intruder, waiting to be stopped, waiting to be rejected.

Now he walked as if he belonged here. Or rather, he walked with the confidence that he was wanted. That took him by surprise, but he already stood in the doorframe, unable to process the thought fully.

No one was in the lab.

A cursory glimpse told him that both Parker's and Whitman's belongings remained, meaning they had probably gone out somewhere close by to have dinner.

He entered the lab, debating if he should wait for them or not. He knew the place as well as he knew his own room: Lab stations, expensive equipment, immaculate order. This was a lab run by one Elizabeth Parker, a lab that came with a set of rules posted on a big colorful billboard beside the door.

At his left, Parker's microscope reminded him that she literally saw into his deepest secrets.

The first time he'd seen her here, she'd been looking at some tiny sample while the silence of the lab wrapped around her. Of all the details he'd come to know about her, that one aspect still piqued his curiosity: she didn't mind the silence.

Most people would have been listening to something. At the very least, they would have been humming or—worse—talking to themselves. But Parker never seemed to mind it, never seemed to want to break it. She belonged here, in her lab, doing the work she loved, happy with the choices she'd made in her past. She had everything he wanted: a fulfilling life. Maybe she could teach him how to get it right once he was out.

He looked at the clock on the wall, and sighed. For the first time since he'd followed Parker, she was out before 5:30pm, a treat for her. She'd put so much of her time into helping him, that he felt like a selfish jerk for being disappointed that she wasn't working late. Again.

Granted, he'd been looking forward to seeing her, but standing here without her left him feeling lost.

He frowned, a curious idea running at the back of his mind. A flash from Parker was almost as good as seeing her, he guessed, tentatively raising his hand to her microscope. Weeks ago, he'd been afraid of getting too many flashes at once, too much information. But now he had the hang of it, it was worth it to coax a moment of Parker's life.

He touched Parker's favorite toy before he decided against it. Harvard came all at once, all shiny and imposing and grand, the way Parker had seen it the first day she stepped through the iron gates of her new home. She'd loved it in a way Max had never loved anything in his life.

His fingers moved over the counter, eager for more. He was drunk in her life, running through a myriad of images from Parker's childhood and her complicated mind when it came to formulas and equations. She wasn't a complicated person per se, but she could deal with tons of numbers and make sense out of them the same way he made sense out of blueprints and tactics.

Max had been encouraged in physics and math, certainly on how to cook up a bomb on short notice, but he'd never been pushed towards the world of chemistry, where molecules ruled the world. He didn't know what to do with Parker's information any more than she would know how to use his powers.

He was so impatient to find little treasures from her past, he was getting _too_ many of them, a kaleidoscope of stories, and smiles and tears. _Calm down_, he scolded to himself, his shoulders relaxing and his breathing slowing. Trying to elicit memories out of ordinary objects took its toll.

_Oh my God, Maria! He's totally not worth it!_ a teenage Parker laughed over ice cream, her best friend flashing in his mind in the way Parker saw her: spirited, wild, and loyal. A friend in every way, someone who was there despite their differences. Maria reminded her that the wild side of life was not all that bad.

He let the moment go, hunting for something more immediate. He found it when he touched a pen. She was looking at his blood, and the avalanche of emotions that crushed him a moment later made him lose his concentration. He staggered a bit, bewildered at how women could balance so many feelings at the same time. Fear mixed with wonder, and that mixed with horror at the unknown and the exhilarating thought of discovery. She wanted to leave, she wanted to stay, she wanted to run a hundred tests, and she wanted to see him again. She worried about him.

"Wow," Max whispered. Sheamazed him_._

He missed her. He truly, achingly, _missed_ her.

His phone vibrated, the alarm telling him it was time to go. He could spend only so much time up here before it became suspicious. He had to head back to the base, back to his life. Nodding to himself, he walked out of Parker's lab, absently touching the doorframe were he used to spend so much time.

The flash was crystal clear, almost as if John were in front of him: _I'm not done yet_. Whatever John wanted, it had nothing to do with Max, and that scared the hell out of him.


	44. Day off

_September 1st, 2011 – Day 1783 and counting_

Sometimes, your instincts tell you to run. Sometimes, you can't run fast enough.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-four  
Day off**

* * *

Frank had been back to his normal, nonchalant way as soon as Max came back from his mission. The routine that followed, his debriefing and check-up, was a badly needed calm Max had been unconsciously seeking for the past month.

This was his normal, plain and simple.

The last time Max had sat down with Summers had been eleven days ago—eleven too-short days in Max's mind. Part of him knew he would be called back into Summers's lab sooner rather than later, but the other part of him argued he was too valuable in the field to be back inside those four walls so soon.

When the phone rang in Frank's office, Max visualized himself silently boarding a plane to the Middle East.

"Yeah?" Frank answered the phone, his eyes on his monitor. After a moment, he stopped reading and looked up at Max. "Yes, he's here. I'll let him know."

Max arched his eyebrows, trying not to grin like an idiot.

"Samuel wants you in his lab in an hour."

Closing his eyes, he swallowed the bile and the disappointment, and ruthlessly killed his good humor. For the next sixty minutes, he paced in his room, imagining new ways to entertain his new doctor with powers he barely controlled.

_It's only mental gymnastics, you can do this,_ he told himself as he walked down the halls, passed a couple of biometric scans, and arrived at his destination.

Whereas Parker's lab was spotlessly clean, this place was clinically sterile. Summers might use much of the same equipment, but between the harsh lights and the absence of windows, everything in here warned Max of danger.

His skin crawled while he greeted Summers with a handshake and a smile, reminding himself that being in Summers's good graces was important.

Hours went by in this colorless room. Two or three, or maybe four or five. By the time he dropped the sand sculpture he'd barely crafted, he honestly couldn't care. He knew he would soon be out of there, running to Frank's waiting arms and his fix. He'd never been happier about fix day in his life.

"Hmm…" Summers said, bringing a chair and sitting in front of Max. He watched him with a mix of clinical interest and practical mind. This man had never praised him for pushing his limits or achieving impressive goals, but even Max had to admit that under those steely eyes of his, he'd accomplished far more in the past month than in the last four years combined.

_Motivations. _

The staring went on beyond normal. Sitting face to face with Summers had to be its own circle of hell, Max decided, drinking from a bottle of water while he wiped sweat out of the back of his neck.

Because his biometrics steadily showed on the monitors in the far wall, Max had to keep an eye on remaining relaxed enough to fool the machines—_and_ Summers—while he concentrated on whatever test the doctor had devised for him. Or in this case, while he was stared at.

"I talked with Frank earlier today," Summers started, standing up and going to his desk. "We're both very impressed with the way you've improved in the past month. _Quantum leaps,_ I told him."

With Summers's back to him, Max chanced a look at his watch: 4:58p.m. Two more minutes and he would be expected at Frank's office for his dose. For the first time in hours, he truly felt relaxed.

"So that got me thinking… We must have changed something in your routine. You started with the flashes on your own, and then moved at lightning speed. You know what I found?"

Max shook his head once, frowning.

"The timing of your dose differed from the last twelve months."

"What?"

Max avoided glancing at the monitors at all cost, and prayed his blood pressure wasn't betraying him.

_Of all the things that have changed in my life in the past year, _this_ is what you found?_

"Well, they do say timing is everything," Summers said, reaching for something in a drawer. A syringe came next, and this time, Max's heart jumped in his chest, doubling its beating for all to hear.

"What is that for?"

Summers ignored what was painfully clear: He'd always known he made Max nervous, but had never remarked on it.

"Oh? I guess Frank didn't mention it. I'll be administering your dose today. We're starting a more controlled timing of your doses, see if we can make those neurons of yours flare more brightly."

Even if no straps prevented him from bolting from that chair and running all the way to Parker's lab, Max couldn't move. He needed the dose, for one, and _I don't like him_ was not reason enough to flee from Summers.

Letting that man put a needle into his arm was not even the worst part. No, that honor was reserved for the _one hour_ Max had to endure in this man's presence to make sure no side-effects came from his dose. That was standard procedure. That was _normal_, but only if Frank was doing it.

Stoically—broodingly—Max rolled the short sleeve over his shoulder as Summers approached. If his body didn't heal so fast, he would have dozens upon dozens of needle marks by this point.

"It's the damnest thing, you know," Summers said, placing his hand on Max's shoulder with a white cotton ball. The smell of alcohol brought too many blurred memories of needles and tests to keep them straight. "Trying to explain to the committee your remarkable jump in performance lately has been interesting."

In went the needle, the transparent drug finding its way into Max's bloodstream. Four years and endless shots had taught him to expect nothing as a side-effect, but this time, his body told him that something was off.

"Then I started thinking," Summers continued, pulling the needle out. "What if we were missing something more obvious here? I mean, the advances you've shown are _years_ ahead of you."

Pressure started at the back of Max's head.

"So, what do you say if we knock off all the pretenses, John?"

"Wh—at?" Max asked, the word slurring out.

"I figured it out a couple of days ago. That's why we've worked so well together for the last few weeks, isn't it? I've gotta tell you, I'm really, _really_ glad you're alive."

Max's eyesight double slightly, and the sound of his heart came from a million miles away. _Am I dying?_

"Wha—what did you—?"

"Relax. I need to know what's been going on, what did you do with Max, why are you back? That sort of thing. I realize sodium pentothal is not exactly the most reliable way to start you talking, but it'll give me some insights."

_Truth serum? _All of Max's secrets came to the front of his mind in big, bold, red letters. John, Whitman, Maggs. _My God, he wants me to betray Parker!_

The world swayed as Max stood up, the chair falling on its back, the electrodes detaching as he moved back, sideways, to the front. He didn't know where he was going, but as long as it was away from Summers, he didn't care.

"Calm down, John," the doctor said with a smile that made every single hair on Max's back to stand up. "I'd rather have you than Max, and you know it," he added, righting the chair and effortlessly guiding Max back into it.

"Now, tell me _everything_."


	45. Shattered

_Journal entry #20, September 1st, 2011_

It's been three weeks since Max walked out that door, and soon after, Alex and John went their separate ways as well. I don't know if I've become an adrenaline junkie, or if it's just that I miss having friends around, but with Alex back in Norway and John back with his wife, it's become painfully obvious that Max is not coming back. This chapter of my life is over. I have to let it go, treasure it in the back of my mind, never to speak of it ever again.

But the truth is, I don't want to let go.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Five  
Shattered**

* * *

Something was wrong.

She didn't know what, but the feeling was growing. For the hundredth time that night, she bit her lip.

Looking at the doorframe, she hoped against hope that Max would be there. Or that Max would call her. Or John. Or someone. It was a depressing thought to know Max could disappear from everyone's life without a trace.

She stood up and walked to the window. Starbucks was about to close and nothing looked out of place—yet something _was._ In any case, it didn't look as if Max was there.

_Of course he isn't, silly. He's fine. He has to be._

She kept watching, hugging herself.

Funny how things she took for granted had changed so drastically, and still had left her life intact. How aliens were real, but she still had to go grocery shopping and pay the bills. How Alex had hacked one of the most classified projects ever, and yet he flew coach to Norway because his business partners' were starting to get angsty at his prolonged absence. How John had all these incredible powers, but still had bought a dozen red roses on his way to his wife, who had the amazing mundane power of banishing him to the couch.

These thoughts did little to distract her. Rationally, she had a million reasons to be worried about Max: he could be on the other side of the world being shot at. He could be dying of a reaction to her counter-drug. He could be lying on a metal table somewhere, being dissected by that sadistic Summers.

_Stop it,_ she ordered herself, closing her eyes. The tug in her mind didn't stop, feeble as it was. Maybe all she needed was to go home, take a shower, and go to bed. Max would be fine. Life would go on. It was time for her life to do the same.

Finally, she left the lab, the clock reading 10:31 p.m. She got into her car in a hurry, a growing sense of dread filling her. Her stomach ached and her heartbeat accelerated—she just didn't know why.

Still parked, she turned to look around. Part of her wanted to run; part of her wanted to fight. The more she looked on Max's direction, the more she wanted to go there.

_Be realistic. What are you going to do? Storm a military base all by yourself? Because you think something is wrong with Max? For real?_

Gripping the wheel, she started her drive home at barely 10 miles per hour. The lab building and Starbucks were still visible in her rearview mirror when she stopped. She bit her lip once more, and made a decision. A stupid one, maybe, but she had to know if this tug was real.

Cutting a U-turn, she headed in the opposite direction from her apartment, and in the general direction of Max's base. _Just a few miles,_ she promised herself. Whatever she felt, it was coming from that direction, and damn if she was not going to check it out.

Driving slowly, Liz scanned the road illuminated by the headlights, trying to peer past their limits into the darkness that obscured the woods beyond. One mile became two, became four, became ten. A few cars passed her by.

At a random point, she pulled over and stopped. She'd arrived to nowhere, logic told her, but that mental tug was strongest here. _Stop,_ it seemed to tell her, _stop right here._

Cold sweat broke on her forehead. _I'm not imagining things_, she told herself, her knuckles turning white on the wheel. Nodding once, she got out of the car with her flashlight, her breath condensing.

The only rational explanation to why she was here had a name, and she whispered it now:

"Max?"

She looked straight ahead at the dark road. "If you're there, I'm here..." She stood still, straining her senses to catch anything, but heard nothing, saw nothing. The silence oppressed her.

"Max!" she shouted, wanting to reach him on some level and only knowing her powerless voice. "It's me! Liz!—Parker!" she amended. The day Max said her name was the day hell would freeze over.

She pointed her flashlight everywhere. Right, left, up, and down. Overhead, rainy clouds collided, full of cold and misery.

"_Max!_" she shouted again, desperation taking hold of her. Was he really calling her? Could he even do that?

Was she losing her mind?

She barely heard it then: a branch breaking. _Please don't be a bear_, she thought as she turned the flashlight in the direction of the sound.

Another branch broke at her right. Eagerly, she spun her flashlight there, and promptly found what she was looking for: Max.

Hardly able to stand against a tree trunk, he was completely disoriented, barely able to close his eyes at the glaring light. His breathing was labored, and he looked lost and exhausted. She scrambled frantically to reach him, as a few falling drops gave warning that the clouds were about to burst.

"Oh my God, Max! Max! What happened to you?!"

Before, Liz would never have dared to touch him without permission, but right now, that was the furthest thing from her mind. Her hands went to his cold cheeks to get his attention, calling his name. He was disoriented, like someone with a concussion. _Or someone who's been drugged,_ she thought with mounting fear. His eyes could not focus on her, even if he was trying his hardest. When she touched him, her stomach clenched, nausea overcoming her.

She let Max go, and the feeling receded. "We have to get you out of here," she stated, draping his arm over her shoulders. She knew it was going to be difficult, but she wasn't anticipating Max's almost dead weight on her a moment later. She stumbled, her back and knees protesting the sudden burden.

Ten agonizing steps later, she opened the passenger door. Once Max was seated, she went around the front of the car and got into the driver's seat. The door made a thunderous sound when she closed it, but as Liz placed her hands on the wheel, she realized something was on them. Something dark.

Blood.

"Oh my—" she didn't finish her thought, turning to look at Max who stared blindly ahead. Her eyes went to his hands, and sure enough, blood coated them, too. She reached for his chest, opening his jacket.

"Please, tell me this isn't your blood, _please, please, please_." She couldn't find the source of the bleeding. Maybe on his back, maybe on his legs.

_Maybe whoever did it is still out there._

The thought paralyzed her searching fingers, crystalizing her priorities in a second: Get him out of danger, get him to safety. If he was bleeding, the last place he was going to get help was in the middle of the road in the middle of the night.

Cutting another U-turn and flooring it, Liz went as fast as she could, not caring about how Max's body slid to the right, leaning against the door. He didn't even grunt.

"Once we're out off this road, we'll get you checked, okay?"

No answer. She looked at his profile, willing him to voice what had happened, who had done it. How had he called her?

She didn't know what to do. "Think, Liz. _Think!_" she told herself through clenched teeth, devouring the miles she'd covered not ten minutes ago.

Rain fell harder, giving everything a sense of urgency. The wipers that hypnotized Max's eyes were the only sound her nerves could stand right now.

The Starbucks logo was of little comfort as she zoomed past it, leaving behind her building, her job, her _life—_all part of some world where aliens didn't exist and she wasn't carrying a hybrid into the vast unknown.

"What they did to you?" she asked in despair. Max turned to look in her general direction.

"Are you a dream?" he asked slowly, almost slurring.

"More like a nightmare," she muttered, shaking her head. "I knew something was wrong with you, and I just went looking on your direction. I didn't know you were there—I mean, I _did_ know, sort of… Maybe like a hunch? I—I _hoped_ you would be there, and that it wasn't all in my head. And you—you were there, except—except I didn't really _know_—"

She stopped. Max closed his eyes and winced. _If I keep babbling my mind out, he's not going to understand a thing._

"Sorry. Max, can you tell me why you were out there?"

"No," he said, opening his eyes and looking at his lap. "Well..." he thought harder, making an incredible effort to hold on to his thoughts. "Maggs... she said to wait for her..." A beat, "Are you Maggs?"

"I'm Parker," she stated. _The girl you spied on, bullied into helping you, and who ultimately gave you the magic cure._ She laughed at that, and felt rather silly doing it, too. "I'm Liz Parker, your friend." Max would probably recognize her better as Dr. Parker, but if this was their last conversation, she wanted him to know her as something more personal than a lab technician. "We've had Thai food together," she added. It seemed to ring a bell somewhere in his foggy brain.

"I don't... want food," he said, getting slightly pale.

"Did someone hit you?" she asked, reading the sign for the interstate. _If you have a concussion, I should be driving you to the nearest hospital_. She mentally checked his symptoms, and whatever this was, it wasn't pretty.

"They tried," Max said with a sincerity that didn't leave any room for doubt. "I hit them instead."

_Screw this_, Liz thought, veering to the right and parking the car, its flashers ticking as she unbuckled Max's seatbelt. Miles away, lightning stroke.

"Here, let me see," she said, reaching for the back of his head. With light fingers, she prodded his skin looking for any lumps or—worse—any blood. As she went from one side to the other, she watched him carefully for any reaction. He complied without saying a word, without wincing, without doing much of anything really, except blinking lethargically.

Finding nothing, her hands explored down his torso.

"Okay, help me out here, Max," she said, unzipping his leather jacket. "We have to get this off you," she murmured, as Max strained feebly to comply while she fought with the sleeves in the constricted space. He leaned his forehead on hers as she gave one last pulled on his sleeve, and Liz froze.

"I'm so tired," he murmured, the words sending her vivid images of a lab that wasn't her own, of a man she'd never seen but knew immediately was the Summers he'd talked about a few times. He'd done something to him.

Other images came, faster and faster, emotions and memories colliding in a dizzying carrousel. Duty and secrecy warred with the need to escape and leave this place. She felt his fierce loyalty and his deeper isolation, the conflict of wanting to belong to his life and the need to find what love really was about. He was so tired of being lied to, of being _used. _He was so tired of believing he had nothing good to offer—so tired of wanting to have a normal life.

She pressed Max's chest gently back to the seat, barely nodding. Her mind was stretched in ten different directions, trying to understand how Max's mind worked, what kind of life he had, and what to do with all this information now. Most importantly, she needed to know where they should go.

Concentrating on the first image, she finally understood what his mind had told her first: "It was Summers," she whispered, feeling Max's muscles tense. "Max... what did he do to you? All this time?" she asked, for one moment looking at his face. He didn't just look tired, he looked exhausted to the point of oblivion.

His shirt had bloody spots all over, and she hastily lifted it so she could take a good look at his body. The blood had stained his skin, but no wounds were open, nothing bleeding. _At least nothing vital,_ she thought, taking a look at his arms. She patted him down the legs to look for fresh blood, but everything seemed to be good.

_No concussion, no loss of blood._ All good news, yes, but that left her with an unknown drug running in his system. _Another_ unknown drug, that is, she thought with despair. When had he had his last dose? Was he off the original drug? _No, no, that would be too soon._

_Maybe Maggs improved my formula..._ It didn't matter. She needed Max coherent to answer these questions, which was the furthest from happening right about now.

"Okay, okay..." she said to herself, looking at the emergency flashers, as if somehow the answer to her problems lay there.

"Max?" she asked, still looking at the display, "Do you know what drug they gave you?"

"I don't… remember. I've never... felt this way... before..." She turned to look at him, and caught him before he could hit the dashboard in front.

"I think you need to buckle up again," she said, some part of her finding this both incredibly stupid and absurd. Once she grabbed him images came back. She saw Maggs, urging him to get out. She saw soldiers, maybe doing a perimeter, maybe coming for him. She broke the connection when she was about to see how Max had dealt with that particular problem.

_At least now I know who this blood belongs to_, she thought, as she carefully avoided touching Max again.

"It hurt," Max said, trying his hardest to keep his head up.

"When they drugged you?" she asked, safely on her side of the car. She turned the emergency lights off, and pulled onto the road again.

"When they shot you," he stated simply. She hit the breaks of the car abruptly enough to leave marks on the pavement.

"_What_?"

"They shot you," he said, signaling his abdomen, roughly around where she'd been shot a lifetime ago.

"How do you know that?"

"I had a flash... I do that now," he explained, frowning.

_Of course, if I could see something from him, he could see something from me_. She blushed at some of the things she had thought over the months. What if he saw some of that and totally misunderstood it?

"What else... did you see?" she asked tentatively, resuming their trip. The silent road was eerie enough without having an alien confessing his mind-reading abilities via touch.

"Cupcakes," he murmured, frowning. "Boy, you were embarrassed." The ghost of a smile came with that memory, and Liz's heart sang at that. Maybe the effect of the drug was starting to wear off. _Keep him talking._

"I was, God, I hated that dress," _but I was 5 years-old, how long ago did you see?_

"You're scared of me," he said then, turning to look at her, for the first time almost looking at her eyes.

She shook her head. "I was in the beginning. Who wouldn't be? And that's what you wanted, right? Me, out of my wits, unable to refuse your offer?"

"I would have left you alone," he whispered, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah well, no alien powers here. I had nothing to go on but your words. You can be pretty scary when you want to be." She glanced at him, seeing if he was smiling at her joke, but his eyes were glazy again, hardly any awareness left.

"Max... it might be wrong, but you really do need a hospital. Whatever they gave you—I don't want you to die..." she whispered. She turned to look at him, to hear him say that it was okay, that he understood. That going to an ER and being tested and his secret blown wide open was worth the risk. Unfortunately, he was already unconscious, leaving the decision-making to her. _What would you do in this situation?_ She was no spy, she was no special black ops agent. She didn't deal with this kind of stuff.

_John did. Maybe I don't know how to call you, but I sure as hell know where you might be._

In her mind, a plan formed. Taking a right, she went into the interstate. Last he'd told her, John's home was in Oregon. She might not know how to find _him, _but with a little luck, she was going to find Mrs. Herschel.


	46. Vacancy

_Journal entry #21, September 2nd, 2011_

You know how they say_ the best laid plans of mice and men often go astray_? Well, it's also true for half-aliens and their frantic friends.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Six  
Vacancy**

* * *

"No, Alex, I'm telling you, I'm _fine. _Just get me John's address!"

"I'm on it, no problem, but _Liz!_ You don—"

She hung up. Not because she didn't want to keep talking to her friend—as if she didn't already know what he was going to say—but because she had far more troubling issues to deal with.

Max was trembling beside her. It had started as small tremors she had barely noticed, and had escalated to an uncontrollable shaking. When she touched him a minute ago, he'd been so cold she almost spun the car into a ditch.

"I need to warm you up," she said, not knowing if Max was awake enough to hear her or not. The problem was _how_.

The answer to her predicament came half a minute later. The neon sign above a motel proclaiming _VACANCY _was a godsend, even if the deserted parking lot gave her the creeps. It was close to 12:30 a.m. somewhere between Washington and Oregon, and the only thing surrounding this place was tress upon trees upon _more_ trees. She was officially in the middle of nowhere.

The clerk was an old man who clearly didn't think much of her at first glance. _Good,_ she thought. The best thing she could hope for was anonymity and invisibility. She paid in cash and left the office in a hurry.

The room was the farthest down the row, and by the time she reached it with her car, Max had stopped shaking. In fact, he'd stopped being awake altogether.

_Please, don't die on me… please, please, please…_

She got out of her car in a hurry, and opened the door to a dark, uninviting room. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting Max help. Returning, she opened the passenger door and stared at Max's unconscious form.

_Come on, come on,_ Liz chanted in her mind as she studied the problem of moving a man twice her weight to a bed some ten feet away. She bit her lip and glanced at the clerk's office, wondering how she could explain this whole thing while preventing the man from calling an ambulance.

_What if he _does _need an ambulance? _

Her phone rang shattering the silence—and a good chunk of her sanity. Fumbling with her cell phone, she saw Max regaining some alertness.

"Alex!" she whispered, glancing at every corner, afraid the entire motel would wake up and shut her up.

"Liz! Where _are _you right now?"

"I'm at some motel on the road. Alex, I'm not sure what's going on with Max. He—I—Maybe I should be driving him to the closest ER," she confided in her best friend, her fear bleeding out.

A hand reached hers, and she jumped back. Max's grip held her wrist with a strength that was both reassuring and startling.

"No hospitals."

"Liz?!" Alex called her while she locked eyes with the man who had changed her life, for better or worse.

"I'm—I'm okay," she stammered, while Max's eyes became hazy, letting her go.

"I contacted John. He's on his way to you, just tell me where exactly you are."

She walked to the door while she tried to remember where exactly this place was. Opening it wide, she turned around to see Max getting out of the car, slowly and uncertainly, but definitely on his own.

"I honestly have no idea," she said in dismayed.

"Okay, listen, I'll just pinpoint your cell and let John know. Stay there. He might take a couple of hours. But Liz—"

"I'll be okay. You're the best friend ever, Alex, but I gotta help Max here. I'll call you once this is over."

She hung in time to see Max wearily entering the room.

"Here, come on," she instructed while she reached for the light switch, illuminating their room a moment later.

Their sanctuary consisted of two beds, one bathroom, one nightstand, green walls, dark rug, and stains all over the walls.

She turned to look at him, not sure if to apologize or commiserate. Either way, he didn't seem to care.

"I'm fine," he assured her, closing the door behind him, swaying on his feet for a moment before steadying himself on the wall. "It's passing… I think…"

"You're so cold," she said, standing beside him, trying to get a feeling of what he wanted to do.

"Am I?" he asked, raising a hand to his face. "Maybe?"

"Here, let me," she said, placing her hand to his icy forehead. "Maybe a hot shower would help?"

He shook his head. "I don't think I can stand for that long. I just want to lie down."

The twin beds had seen better days—a _long _time ago. She had a passing thought that she couldn't sleep right now even if she were at the Waldorf, much less here. Max didn't seem to mind, and he promptly collapsed on the closest bed, lying on his back with his eyes closed.

She stared at him, at his pale skin, his exhausted body—and at the blood stains. Without a word, she went into the bathroom in search of towels and water.

In the mirror, her reflection was equally pale and exhausted. _What am I doing?_ The question hung between her and the mirror while the thin towel soaked in her hands.

She blinked and then avoided the mirror altogether.

In the room, Max was sitting up and reaching for his boots, a thoughtful look in his face. His hands rested on the laces but he wasn't untying them. He seemed to be frozen in thought.

"Max?"

"I didn't get my fix," he said in a flat tone, too tired to inflict the enormity of that statement in his voice.

"What? You—you mean you didn't get the drug? What about the counterdrug?"

He closed his eyes and stayed silent for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. She stood there, towel dripping, completely helpless. _We should really be heading to the hospital, not here while he—_

"He didn't die," Max stated, not looking at her but finally doing something about the laces.

"Who?"

"John, he didn't die." He took his boots off and, after a moment, finally looked at her. "Maybe I won't either."

_There's a thought._

"John's coming here, Alex contacted him. He might be here in the next hour and he can help—You should get below the covers." He'd started trembling again.

"It won't make any difference," he said, his eyes on her as serious as ever. "You should leave."

For an answer, she sat in the bed opposite to him. She reached for one bloodied hand and started to clean it. She braced for more images, but nothing happened.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked in a whisper as Max stopped her.

Max moved his hand over his clothes and body and the stains disappeared.

In another lifetime, she would have said _show-off_ teasingly. Now, she stayed silent, sitting in front of him and letting the towel fell to the side. She waited for an answer that she didn't really want to hear. No one got that much blood on themselves without being hurt.

His hands trembled slightly, so he placed them at his side, where he could make them stop. Withdrawals were coming, and they both knew it.

_What exactly should I expect? _If Max thought there was a good chance his life was in danger—

"If I survive tonight, there's no going back," he stated, not looking at her. Tiredness colored his every word and every breath, and he finally lay back on top of the bed.

"Good. You shouldn't be there," she said, contemplating how to help him get more comfortable.

"Parker. You should leave." He said it with so little conviction she had to smile.

"You don't want me to," she countered, forgetting the absurdity of it all.

"No… But you should."

"What kind of friend walks away from something like this?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, trying to find some ray of sunshine in this whole mess. Trying to make him smile for once.

He didn't. He just looked miserable.

"I don't think you fully grasp what's happening here," he said at length, staring at the ceiling.

"That withdrawals—"

"That I'm an addict."

She blinked. _What is that supposed to mean?_

"Max. Don't—"

"—say that?"

"Don't blame yourself for that! You didn't choose—"

"I'm not saying _I'm sorry I'm an addict._ Parker, it doesn't _matter_ how you got addicted in the first place. The fact is, I'll do anything—_anything_, to get my dose."

He looked at her then, vulnerable for the first time since she'd met him. She barely heard his whispered words: "I don't want to hurt you."

Something in his voice broke a piece of her soul. Outside, the storm grew harsher, and a small part of her wondered if Max was subconsciously doing that. There was so much she didn't know about him. That not even he knew about himself, really.

"You won't ever hurt me, Max. Come on."

He trembled again, though he tried to disguise it this time. "Parker—"

"Think about it: I have nothing in my possession that would be useful to you. I have no way of getting the drug. I have nothing you would hurt me for."

Doubt crossed his eyes, and he bit his lower lip in the same way she did when she was worried.

_Did he just copy my—_

"Okay… Okay," he finally gave in.

She nodded with him, assuring them both this was the right decision.

"How about we talk about something else, huh?" she proposed, hoping to get that gray cloud of his dissolved.

"Something else?"

"Anything."

"In that case, I want to know all about those cupcakes," he said, slightly lightening up.

So she told him. She talked and talked and talked until he finally fell asleep, thinking all the time that she truly didn't have anything his addict mind could want.

He'd thought the same thing.

They were both wrong.

* * *

**AN: **I've recently published a short novel called The Librarian on amazon, in case you'd like to check it out. You can find it on my profile. I promise it has aliens :)


	47. Prey

_Journal entry #22, still September 2nd, 2011_

I think this is the moment of no return.

Back in January, when I was first introduced to a world where aliens walk the Earth, I had two equally viable choices: stay or leave it alone.

Now my choice is the same, but the stakes are exponentially higher: Stay here with Max and see this play out to whatever awaits us at the end—Or leave Max alone, go out into the rain and drive myself back into the security of my life, knowing full well I'll never see Max again.

I know which one Max wants me to choose.

I know he's hoping I won't choose it anyway.

And I kinda like that feeling.

* * *

**Chapter Forty-Seven  
Prey  
**

* * *

Rain and nothing but rain was all she could hear, sitting by the window, feeling time slow to a crawl. John had to arrive any minute now, she kept telling herself, while the yellowish light from the parking lot illuminated their room, casting eerie shadows across Max's face.

At least his even breaths were an assurance that he was well and alive. She stared at the walls, at the window, at the carpet, but most of all she stared at him, wondering at his life, wondering at his future. Wondering at what to do once he woke up.

Her eyes went to the window as lightning struck nearby. Outside, the world was falling down, and it was only a matter of time before it fell down in here, too.

_Stop it. You don't need this right now. _He _doesn't need this right now._

She looked back at Max, only to realize his eyes were open and staring at her. She caught herself from saying anything as her instinct of fight or flight paralyzed her: He was looking at her not like a friend, but as prey.

She'd never seen a man looking at her like this. So determined, so calculating. So _cold_.

She ran. She turned to the door and ran from a stranger who wore Max's face but not Max's intentions. She'd moved faster than she ever had before, and yet he was between her and the door before she could even blink. He was everything in her vision now, unmoving and uncaring, terrifying.

"This is how this is going to be," he said, not hiding the fact that she was not going to like it. "You're going to call Whitman, you're going to tell him to contact the base, and they're going to get me my dose."

She stared at him, his words hardly sinking in.

"You—you _what_?"

She'd been thinking along the lines of _please don't hurt me_, but now that had changed to _please don't hurt yourself_. This wasn't happening. Max was _not_ asking to go back to that hell.

_I'm an addict,_ his words echoed in her mind, painfully real now that he had reached for her phone and was offering it to her. _I'll do anything—anything, to get my dose._

"No," she said with far more conviction that she was aware of. "I won't let you do that."

"It's not a suggestion, Parker. I'm just being nice here and letting you talk to Whitman in a nice calm manner. If I have to call Frank from your phone myself and let you rot in a military base for the rest of your life, that's your problem."

He meant that. He truly meant that. They would trace the call to her cell phone, and she would be forever marked as _knowing too much_. She wouldn't rot in a cell, she wouldn't even be alive long enough to _be_ in a cell.

"You—you wouldn't," she whispered, faltering as his eyes looked at her with impatience. He _was_ being nice, but he wouldn't be for much longer.

"They should be here in about twenty minutes. And I can _hardly wait._"

He placed her cell on her palm, and looked straight at her soul. _Guess we found out what I have that your addict mind wants._

For one insane moment she thought about crashing the cellphone to the wall, breaking it so Frank and the Base and the whole damn thing would stay out of Max's reach. If only there weren't any more phones in the entire motel. If only Max's frighteningly clear mind couldn't come up with something else. He _was_ going to get his drug, she had no doubt about it, and as she pressed _redial_ and the international call connected to Alex, she consoled herself with the idea that once Max was back to himself, they could be back to planning how to get him off this.

"Liz!"

"A—Alex, you're not going to like this."

Max arched an eyebrow in amusement, and then relayed everything Alex needed to do to call the base and get them to the motel.

"What? _WHAT?!_"

"Alex, listen. There's really no choice. He needs it, okay? We're too far away to drive back. The only way he's not—not going to die is if they pick him up and take him back to the base by helicopter. Trust me, he's thought about it long and hard."

"But what about you?"

Max took the phone from her hand.

"She drives until the sun comes up. No one will ever know she was here. There are no cameras, no way to trace her. Whitman, I won't let anyone hurt her, you hear me?"

Whatever Alex answered, she didn't hear it. She was stunned at how Max-like that had sounded, and more stunned when Max took the car keys from the nightstand, shoved them into her hands and turned her to the door. Once Alex called them, she had to be nowhere to be found.

"Make the call in ten minutes," Max warned, "so the satellites won't pick her up as easy. And Whitman? Thank you."

He hung up, and then proceeded to take apart her phone. "Don't put the battery back until you're a hundred miles away, you hear me? Parker, do you hear me?"

She nodded numbly. This wasn't happening. He wasn't going back. _My God, he might never stand in front of me again._

"It was never going to work," his words came out like a knife to her hopeful heart. "I'm never going to be off this thing. They know it, I know it, _you_ know it. Get out, Parker, go have the life you're meant to have, without me in the middle of it."

He opened the door and pushed her out. She turned, one last desperate attempt to _do_ something.

"Max—!"

"_GO!_"

He shut the door on her. He shut the door on his present. On his future. On everything and more. _The hell I'm going to let you!_

She raised her hands, ready to beat down the door, the storm pouring behind her fueling her anger. _I did not find you, drag you, drive you all the way here just to lose—_

Her hands never made contact with the door. Out of the shadows, a man stopped her. Her heart jumped to her throat at realizing they had been found, that all was lost, that Max was alone and—

"John…!" she shouted in relief to his chest, her voice so muffled no one could have heard her over the storm. She wanted to shout her frustration. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to cry. Most of all, she wanted him to break that door down and knock some sense into Max.

Instead, he grabbed her shoulder and walked her to the next room, opening the door with a wave of his hand. It was as shabby as her previous sanctuary, but the curtains here were green.

"He's going into withdrawal," she said as soon as he closed the door, "and he's just talked to Alex to call the Base—John, they'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Then we don't have much time." He didn't wait for anything else. He just opened the door and went straight to Max's room.

A moment later, she ran after him, only to have the door slammed shut before she could get out, thunder and rain drowning all sounds. She was effectively sealed in.

"Open this door!" she yelled while she beat the door with her fists, "John! Max!" with no real hope that anyone would let her out. "You can't just—GODDAMN IT OPEN THIS DOOR!"

The whole room vibrated, and then the entire window exploded. She screamed and fell to the floor, protecting her head from shattered glass and rain.

She'd always known Max could do extraordinary things. She'd also known that John was better at it. But seeing this raw power up close and personal was a whole new level of unknown. It drove home how little she knew.

A tense calm descended as she dared to look at the window, suddenly realizing she was free to go. She scrambled over the shattered pieces and out to the next room. It never occurred her to run for her car. It never occurred her to stay back. All she needed was to make sure both men were alive.

The door to Max's room was blown away along with its window. Inside, it looked as if a tornado had had fun with the furniture, adding a hundred new colorful stains to the walls.

Between the two beds, John had pinned Max against the wall, and was slowly letting him slide to the floor, barely conscious.

"Wha—what did—Max?!"

"It's okay, he's okay—I think…"

"WHAT?!"

"He's okay!" John said, rattled and trying to cover it. "I wasn't expecting this, that's all."

"What did you do?"

"Told him I had his fix," John said as he pointed to a syringe on the floor. "When he realized it wasn't his fix, he wasn't happy… Man, you pack a punch."

Max didn't answer, the anger in his eyes evaporating.

"What did you give him?"

"A sedative. I figured if he was running away from the base so close to his fix day, I had better be prepared."

"Okay, okay. Let's get him to my car and let's get out of here!"

John didn't follow her instructions. Instead, he placed both his hands on Max's temples, his eyes already glazed.

"Now, Max, tell me the whole story—no, don't try to talk, think about it. I'll get the picture."

"John…?" she asked, feeling every second weighing on her. Max had said twenty minutes, but it could be longer than that—or _shorter._

"That _bastard…_" John hissed at whatever he was picking up from Max. Finally releasing him, he lifted Max up and three him over his shoulder.

"Let's go."

"What did you see?" she asked, getting out of the room and to her car. The three of them were soaked in seconds.

"A whole bunch of nastiness. Samuel drugged him so he would tell the truth about me, about his escape plan—Look, it doesn't matter. They're on their way here, and you need to get going."

Liz opened the passenger door and froze at that.

"What do you mean _I _need to get going?"

In went Max, now fully unconscious.

"I'm staying behind, taking his place."

"No!"

"Yes. Go to my wife. She won't be thrilled but she knows how to deal with this."

"John! You're coming!"

"They expect to find Max. I expect to go back. Liz, you're really running out of time, and I still have a few things to fix here. Alex knows where to get you. Now go!"

"No!"

"Either you go, or we're all going to the base!"

Her heart sank. What was it about these two men that left her feeling so powerless? John turned and went back to the room, leaving her in the rain, leaving the choice to her.

Six minutes later, she was back on the road, back with Max by her side, and back looking for Mrs. Hershel. Except a piece of her soul had died, knowing she'd left a friend behind.

* * *

**AN:** Thank you all for your reviews! Just remember, I can't answer you if you're a guest :)


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